Shadows at Noon
by mangoaddict
Summary: Prequel to The Lost Future. Set in the unchanged future. The story of the Halliwell family before, during, and after Wyatt's fall.
1. The Beginning

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's Note: So this is the prequel to _The Lost Future_. They can both stand alone, but basically, one is the story of what happened to Chris before going back in time, and the other is the story of what happens to him in the changed future. If you have read _The Lost Future_, then some of the characters and scenes may look familiar.

This is done mostly in a one-shot format. Each chapter is its own story, although together all the chapters make a story as well. But this does mean that there will be some time gaps between each of the chapters. (if this doesn't make sense to you now, hopefully it will as the story progresses).

Also, for anyone who read The Lost Future, I just rewrote the epilogue. I posted the new version, and would like to know what people think of it.

* * *

Chapter One: The Beginning

"_Mom?" _

"_Love you…" _

"_Mom! Mom! Please, don't…just hold on. Wyatt! Dad! Aunt Paige! Someone, anyone! Please!"_

"_Piper…"_

"_Heal her! Come on, heal her!"_

"_I can't…"_

"_NO! Try again!"_

* * *

It was a simple gravestone. Just a single slab of stone, plain and ordinary. No frills, no statues, nothing to distinguish it from the myriad of other grave markers that lined the rows of the cemetery. Only a few brief words etched across the granite face. It was decorated with ribbons and flowers, but no one had pulled away the weeds and grass that encroached upon it. Instead, it was partially buried beneath a mat of green, disappearing into the ground.

The rain beat down, causing small rivulets of water to appear on the stone, causing large puddles of water to appear on the dirt path. The ground turned to mud and wet pavement, the grass shone with large drops of water. The gray sky threatened more rain, without any sign of letting up. There was the roll of distant thunder, then, a few seconds later, the flash of lightning.

A boy stood in front of the marker, staring at it through bloodshot eyes. He stood, oblivious to the gathering storm, and the drops of rain mixed with the tears that streamed down his face. His dark hair was matted to his skin, his clothes were soaked, clinging to his body. The rain was cold, but not as cold as the emptiness that had seeped into him, the emptiness that chilled him to the bone.

His green eyes were dulled with an emotional pain that would not let go. His skin was pale, contrasting starkly with his dark hair. His lips had faded to a soft flesh-tone, barely discernable from the rest of his emaciated face. His cheekbones sunk inwards, and his already thin figure had slimmed to almost nothing. He looked like walking death.

He felt nothing.

He wanted so badly to feel something, some glimmer of fire and fury that currently consumed his brother. He wanted the burn of hatred that brought light to his brother's sky-blue eyes, or the insufferable agony of loss that haunted his father's features. He wanted something, anything, that would pull him away from the great expanse of emptiness that filled him.

But he felt nothing.

The funeral had been small. There was no one to come besides the few surviving family members. She had never had many friends. And the few she had managed to obtain were eventually lost, cast aside as the duties of being Charmed and being a mother took over her life. She dedicated her life to Good, and to Light, and to Defeating Evil.

And in the end she lost her life to them as well.

"Chris?"

The boy turned and stared at the figure who had appeared behind him and shivered uncontrollably, as though suddenly realizing that he was soaked. His lips trembled for a moment, and he bit his bottom one before turning away and looking out into nothing.

"Go away, Grandpa," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rain.

"Come home with me," Victor Bennet replied, reaching out and placing a hand on his grandson's shoulder. Chris shrugged it off and stepped away, shaking his head in refusal.

"No," he said softly but determinedly. "I want to stay here for a while."

"You're all wet," Victor objected quietly, taking off his coat and draping it over the thin shoulders of the young witch-lighter. "You'll catch a cold if you stay out here. Your mother wouldn't want you to…"

"Don't!" Chris cried out, spinning around to face his grandfather angrily. "_Don't_ bring her into this."

"She would want to be brought into it," Victor replied, choking on the words as he said them. He did not like magic, he had never liked magic. Magic had taken everything from him. His wife, his oldest daughter, and now… He swallowed and pushed the thought away. The dead were dead, he could do nothing for them. But he could still help Chris.

"Shut up," Chris hissed bitterly, but his eyes still showed no emotion.

"Chris, please," Victor begged, reaching out and grabbing Chris' shoulders again. This time he did not allow the young boy to throw him off, instead he held on tightly, pulling Chris into a hug. "Come home with me," he repeated, his voice soft and low. Coaxing.

He'd lost one more daughter, he couldn't lose his grandson too.

Chris nodded slowly, allowing himself to be lead from the cemetery. The two made their way along the curving path, and Victor wondered briefly if the other deaths marked by the tombstones in the cemetery had torn apart a family as much as this one had.

He had no way of knowing, at that point, how much worse things would get.

Behind them, the rain continued to beat down on the ground. It ran over the words etched into the gravestone, obscuring them, and whittling away at the engraving. The rain did not know or care who was buried there. The rest of the world did not know or care either. Only a few mourned her death, only a few noted her passing. Like her older sister, she passed away into oblivion, and the world did not notice.

But it would. One day, when it became clear how and why the war had started, everyone would looked back and remember.

Chris and Victor reached the gate of the cemetery and stepped out into the street. Back to real life. Back to reality. Back to the world that kept on turning. Time stopped for no man or woman, and least of all a dead one.

Behind them, the gate swung shut, locking into place with a sharp snap. And back along the twisting path, back under the weeds and grass, back beneath the pools of rainwater, the single gravestone sat, unnoticed and innocuous, bearing its short engraving.

_Piper Halliwell. Beloved Mother, Sister, Wife, and Daughter. May she rest in peace._

* * *

"Ah, Leo," an Elder said, detaching himself from the group of Elders he was speaking to and making his way across the misty ground to reach the white-lighter. "How are you today?" He asked the question as sympathetically as he could, knowing that it sounded trite all the same. How do you console a man for the loss of his soul mate? How can you console a man for the loss of half his soul?

Leo snorted at the question and lowered his head. "Fine, Odin," he replied, biting off the words bitterly. He crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at the others who now made their way towards him. "I would like a hearing with the Elders."

Odin and a few other Elders exchanged brief looks, then Odin said, "Leo, are you thinking…?" He paused, suddenly unsure, and looked down.

"Of clipping my wings?" Leo offered. He swallowed back the lump in his throat and continued, "No, Odin, I am not _thinking_. I've already made up my mind."

"We can't condone such an action," a female Elder spoke up. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Leo's shoulder, trying her best to by sympathetic.

But Leo shrugged off her efforts and stepped away. "I'm not asking your permission," he replied, his haunted eyes meeting the Elder's stern and slightly disapproving gaze.

"I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through, Leo," the Elder said softly, "but I can…"

"No," Leo snapped, interrupting her. "You can't pretend to know what I am…" the sentence ended abruptly as the words choked in his throat. The tears that filled his eyes threatened to fall, and he blinked them hastily, turning away from the Elder. "I am sorry, Rhiana. I did not mean to snap," he said slightly guiltily. "But I have already reached my decision. I don't want to be a white-lighter anymore."

"What about your children?" Rhiana whispered.

"I am doing this _for_ my children!" Leo replied. "They've just lost their mother. I need to be there for them. Don't you understand that?"

"Your children have a destiny to follow…" Odin said, his voice pompous, but well meaning. "They have a…"

"It was destiny that cost them their mother! I won't let it take their father from them as well," Leo replied determinedly. He brushed a tear away impatiently and turned his gaze from Odin and Rhiana to the other Elders, and to the circle of white-lighters that had gathered around them. "I can't leave them now."

Odin nodded slowly. "Leo, I know what you are thinking, and why you are thinking it. But whether or not you want them to have a destiny, they do. They can't escape their fate, and you can't escape yours. Piper understood this."

"All Piper wanted was a chance at a normal life," Leo objected.

"And when that chance came, when the Angel of Destiny offered it to them after they had vanquished the Source, she turned it down. She understood that magic wasn't something she did, it was _who_ she was," Rhiana replied.

"And look where it got her. Look where it got all of us," Leo spat back.

"You can't stop your children from being witches, Leo," Rhiana said heavily. "But if you clip your wings now, you won't be able to guide them. Is that what you want?"

"If I stay a white-lighter, I will miss out on their lives," Leo replied. He rubbed his hands over his arms, suddenly cold and tired. "I don't want that. I don't want to have to disappear for days at a time to help some witch in Kenya or Argentina or Laos fight against evil. I don't want to leave them."

"Piper was supposed to teach them everything," Odin whispered. "But she can't. Who will do it for her if not you? Don't you see, by clipping your wings, you aren't preventing your children from being who they are. All you are doing, is writing yourself out of the magical part of their lives. Is that really what is best for them? Is that really what they would want? Is that what _Piper_ would want you to do?"

Leo cursed inwardly, knowing that Odin was right.

* * *

The blade glittered, lethal and beautiful. It swung through the air, whistling with power. The light from the flickering torches on the walls danced up and down its length, illuminating each and every deadly inch of silver metal.

The second sword, a thin rapier of stainless steal and bronze, swung up to meet the first. But the first blade was the superior weapon by far, and the force of the blow caused the second weapon to shatter along its length, leaving its wielder unarmed. The great sword swung once more, aimed with perfect precision, and it unerringly hit home.

Wyatt Matthew Halliwell orbed out of the cave as yet another demon turned to ash.

* * *

Next Chapter: The Breakdown Lane

Due: Sun 11/12


	2. The Breakdown Lane

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter takes place about a year after the last one. I know it is a large time gap, but the next important event in the future doesn't happen until a year after Piper's death.

The first few chapters of the story cover time pretty quickly, that is, they each progress forward several months or so. So, to give you and idea of the timeline, I'll post the ages of the second generation. Once we get to the middle of the story, where there will be less time gap between the chapters, I may stop doing this.

Piper and Leo's sons:

Wyatt-17

Chris-15

Phoebe and Jason's daughter:

Prue-10

Paige and Richard's children:

Ria-9

Adam-6

* * *

Chapter Two: The Breakdown Lane

_Along the side of most highways, an extra lane stretches out for the length of the road. It serves many purposes: it is a buffer between the main road and the edge, it allows a motorist the flexibility to take evasive action such as swerving to avoid an obstacle in the road, it can be an extra lane for an ambulance to bypass traffic, and it is a place to seek sanctuary in the case of an emergency or a breakdown._

_This extra lane goes by many names. Hard shoulder, or simply shoulder. Emergency lane. Bypass road. _

_Breakdown lane._

_In case of an emergency, pull over here._

_What happens when you pull over, and then find you can't get back onto the main road?_

* * *

Prue pulled her loose hair back into a ponytail and glanced around the bathroom. It had been a year since they had moved into this manor. Her mother had insisted on moving into the manor. Although Grandpa had argued that he could take care of Chris and Wyatt on his own, her mother had been worried about demon attacks. Grandpa had no powers, and had no way of defending himself, so he had reluctantly caved. They all lived under the roof now, her and her parents, Grandpa, Chris and Wyatt.

She was only ten, but she often felt much older than that, so much had happened in those ten years. Her Aunt Piper's death had changed everything, however, and left her feeling lost and confused. She had always assumed that evil would lose the battle. Her parents and her Aunts told her that good always won, and she had never had a reason to believe otherwise. She had some vague idea that the woman she was named for had lost her life to evil, but that was a long time ago, and she didn't really understand the concept of death.

Not until Aunt Piper was gone.

The house was filled with shadows, ghosts and memories that never quite seemed to leave. The hallways were filled with the sound of forgotten laughter, the kitchen filled with the smells of Aunt Piper's cooking. But laughter was rare now, and Piper wasn't around to cook. These were just echoes of the past that was gone, but not forgotten.

Prue sometimes wished that it would fade away. She saw the perpetual sadness in her mother's eyes, the way Chris refused to stay in the manor for longer than absolutely necessary, the slow changes in Wyatt, the age lines creeping into Aunt Paige's face. She wished they could forget and move on, but the memories were burned into their minds, scorched with the fire of pain and rage that never let them forget.

"Prue? Dinner."

Prue turned at the sound of her mother's voice and sighed. Dinner was no longer a cheerful affair. Chris and Wyatt would sit down long enough to drink a glass of orange juice and take a few bites of lasagna, and then they would disappear. Her mother and father would always try to force a conversation, and sometimes her grandfather would join in, but it never worked. The meal was gloomy and silent, and nothing ever seemed to change that.

* * *

Chris sat down on his bed and closed his eyes, concentrating on his brother. Prue had come wining to him about wanting to play some game or read some book or something, but he had brushed her off. He had no desire to spend time with her, she was only ten, after all. No matter how old she may act at times, she was still just a little girl, and Chris was at the age where the last thing he wanted was his baby cousin tagging after him all the time.

He located Wyatt somewhere in San Francisco. He was fairly certain it was an alley, so it would be safe to orb there. He debated telling Aunt Phoebe, but decided against it. As usual, she was so caught up in her own work issues that she probably wouldn't notice he was gone.

Sometimes it made Chris angry, that his aunt and uncle never really seemed to have the time for him and Wyatt. But he had to remind himself that they had a daughter to take care of, and a world to save, and it was more difficult now that they didn't have the power of three.

Chris choked on a sob as he thought of his mother. But the thought of her reminded him that she had been Aunt Phoebe's sister, and he wasn't the only one who had lost her. He had to be understanding, but sometimes it was just so hard…

He focused on Wyatt and orbed.

The alley was dark, and his white lights lit up the surrounding gloom as he reappeared behind a dumpster. There was no sign of Wyatt anywhere, and for a moment he thought perhaps he had sensed wrong. But then he heard the sound of fighting, the clash of metal striking metal, and he followed it, staying in the shadows, until he found his brother.

Wyatt was fighting a demon. His blonde hair fell over his brilliant blue eyes, and he was moving with fluid grace and poise. He swung around, his sword weaving circles in the air, as he easily side-stepped a fireball thrown by the demon. Then he brought Excalibur whistling in front of him as he turned to face the demon, and the great sword sliced easily through the demon's chest.

The demon gave a shriek of rage as his entire body was engulfed in flames, then he turned to ash.

Wyatt stared at the ash for a moment, then straightened and waved his sword-hand, causing Excalibur to orb away. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed slightly. "Lurking in the shadows?" he asked softly. "Why, someone might think that you were a demon." He wasn't looking at Chris, but Chris knew that his brother knew exactly where he was.

They were brothers, after all. They shared a bond.

Chris stepped out into the faint light of the street lamp. It's pale yellow fell over his face and dark hair. "Do you always hunt demons?" he asked curiously. He often sensed Wyatt in odd locations, but this was the first time that he had ever actually followed his brother.

"Every night," Wyatt replied evenly, giving a casual shrug. He sent Chris a hard stare and asked pointedly, "Are you going to tell me that it is a bad idea?"

Chris stared at Wyatt, wondering where the question had come from. Wyatt had asked it as though he already expected Chris to tell him to give it up. Had someone else told Wyatt that he shouldn't be hunting demons? Who? Definitely not Aunt Phoebe. Uncle Jason, then? Or Dad? Grandpa, maybe…

"Too much power and too much rage… that's a dangerous combination," Chris mused. It was one of their father's favorite sayings, and he had employed it a lot while trying to explain to Wyatt why planning out an attack was better than just going after demons recklessly.

Chris winced suddenly, wishing that his father would spend that much time with him, teaching him about the ways of the magical world.

Wyatt grinned slightly, recognizing the quote. Then his features clouded over and he said strongly, bitterly, "I will find the demon that murdered her, and I will destroy it!"

Chris stared at Wyatt in shock. He had no idea that Wyatt was hunting the demon that killed their mother. If he had known, he would have offered to help. But he had the distinct feeling that Wyatt felt as though this was something he had to do on his own.

Before Chris could reply to his brother's comment, however, Wyatt was gone in a swirl of blue and white orbs.

Chris stared at the spot the blonde teen had stood and, unbidden, another memory came to mind, another one of his father's sayings. He shook his head and murmured softly, "And if you destroy yourself in the process…? Be careful, lest you become the thing you hate."

But he didn't mean it, not really. Because Wyatt was still his brother, and he could never imagine anything happening to him.

And because, like his brother, he would have done anything in the world to avenge his mother's death.

* * *

"Mom?" Prue frowned when her mother didn't answer her, but didn't think anything of it. Her mother was probably at work today. The ten-year-old had just come back from school, and if her mother wasn't home, then either Chris and Wyatt or her grandfather was likely to be somewhere in the house waiting for her.

She headed towards the stairs. "Chris? Wyatt?"

No answer. She checked the rooms on the second floor, but they were all empty. She hesitated in front of Chris' open door, trying to figure out where he would be. Had he gone to a friend's house, or stayed after school for some reason?

But that seemed unlikely, because if Phoebe had asked Chris to baby-sit his little cousin, he wouldn't have ignored the request. Wyatt often did, orbing away to hang out with his friends or hunt demons while he was supposed to be watching Prue. But Chris… he _never_ did that.

But maybe she hadn't asked Chris and Wyatt to baby-sit. Maybe it was Grandpa who was supposed to watch her. But then, if that was true, where was Grandpa?

It was unusual for everyone to be gone. She dropped her bright pink coat and her backpack on the floor outside the room, and glanced at the stairs that lead up to the attic. Had they gone on a demon hunt?

She walked up the stairs towards the attic, figuring that if they had gone after a demon, the Book would be open to the entry about that demon. But at the top of the stairs she paused, shivering. Some feeling rushed through her, a warning of some sort. Something had happened, or was about to happen…

But the feeling was so fleeting that as it faded away she wondered if she had imagined it. She pushed the door open to the attic and stepped into the room.

And screamed.

Her entire body froze as she stared at the two lifeless bodies in front of her. Her mother and Aunt Paige lay crumpled in the center of the room. Their bodies had collapsed in awkward positions, and blood seeped onto their clothes, pooling on the hardwood floor beneath them. Their lifeless eyes, open but unseeing, stared blankly out at the room.

Prue just stared. She couldn't think, couldn't understand what she was seeing, what had happened, what it meant. The only thing she could force herself to do was scream, and her voice filled the air of the attic, echoing slightly from the walls.

Two demons stood next to the Book, and she did not notice them until they turned to stare at her. They were standing far back from the Book, careful not to touch it, and they turned to stare at Prue in smirking delight.

One of them stepped forward and conjured a fireball.

The ten-year-old found that she was suddenly able to think, and her screaming took on a different form. The incoherent noise that had left her mouth prior now formed two names which she repeated, over and over.

"Wyatt! Chris! Wyatt! _Help me_!"

The demon threw the fireball just as a swirl of orbs appeared in the room and coalesced into Wyatt.

The Twice Blessed took in the entire scene, his eyes lingering on his aunts' lifeless forms. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the fireball fly towards his young cousin. Throwing out one hand, he stopped the fireball and redirected it back at the first demon. Then he turned to the second demon and almost casually vanquished him with a well placed energy ball.

The room was silent. Wyatt stared at Prue, Prue stared at her mother's body, and time dragged on, stretching out each second until it seemed like an eternity.

Then Prue broke down into sobs.

* * *

Two days after the funeral, Richard broke his promise to Paige and started using magic again. It was small things at first, making protective potions for his son and daughter. Adam and Ria were too young to understand that their father wasn't supposed to use magic, and so they of course raised no objections to what he did.

A few days after that, and he was looking through the Book of Shadows for entries about any demons that he thought might be a threat.

And a few days after _that_, he was vanquishing those demons.

* * *

Jason leaned idly against the doorframe of the kitchen's manor and watched as Victor cleaned up the last of the dinner dishes. He rubbed the back of his head absently with one hand, working up the courage to say what it was he wanted to say. He wasn't entirely sure how well Victor would take it, and he didn't want to do anything to upset the other man.

Victor was getting sick. He was getting more tired each day, although this was only noticeable to those who lived with him all the time. He was coughing more than usual, and his skin sometimes had a grayish tinge to it. He was still able to function perfectly well within the house, but…

But Jason knew that, although Victor had yet to inform anyone of this, the older man had started to see an oncologist.

He had smoked so much during his life that it was quite probable that he now had lung cancer. But Jason didn't want to dwell on that, because he didn't want to think of what another death would do to this family.

Victor finally turned and acknowledged Jason with a tired nod. 'I thought you'd gone into work today," he asked, walking over to one of the kitchen chairs and sinking into it.

Jason hesitated, then replied, "I did for a little bit, but then I had some errands to run, and I figured I come back here to talk to you while the kids are at school."

That caused Victor to straightened slightly and look up in interest. He wondered what Jason could have to say that would be so confidential it would have to be said while the kids were all gone.

"I was thinking," Jason said slowly, taking a few steps into the room, "About how we're all living here together."

Richard and his two children had moved into the Manor after the funerals. Although Richard explained to them that he just wanted to be near his surviving family, they all knew that there was the added incentive of being close to the Book, the Nexus, and all the potion supplies that were kept in the Manor.

Adam and Ria had had no objection to the move, and Ria in fact was too terrified of her own home to return to it. The mansion she had grown up in was huge and luxurious, but filled with memories of her mother, who was no longer there. Ria refused point black to step foot inside the house, and Victor had seen no reason to force them to leave the Manor.

But the Manor was only so big, and now it was getting crowded.

"What about it?" Victor asked, pressing his hands onto the table and widening his eyes slightly as he guessed Jason's thoughts.

"Well," Jason continued, "I still own the penthouse, and I was thinking that maybe Prue and I could try living there." He suggested it diffidently, worried about Victor's response.

As expected, Victor's first words were colored by outrage. "You want to take Prue away from this?" He extended his hands around him, as though displaying the kitchen and the rest of the Manor. "This is her home."

"No, it isn't," Jason argued. "Until last year, she lived with Phoebe and I in the penthouse. Until last year, she only came to the Manor to visit her Aunt Piper, Uncle Leo, and cousins. Her home is with me and I…"

"You want out?" Victor demanded harshly. "Is that what this is about? You want out of this mess? This family?"

"No," Jason said tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "Look, originally we moved here because… Phoebe… wanted to be in the Manor to protect you and her nephews." He paused again, then took a deep breath and rushed on through the painful words, "But Phoebe's not here now."

Victor's hands clenched tightly over the top of the chair, his knuckles turning white, as he drew a sharp breath.

"And I can't offer you any protection."

"I've lost my three daughters," Victor said at last. His voice broke slightly as he spoke, but he continued on regardless. "I don't want to lose my grandchildren as well. And they need to stay together, to learn together… for their magic."

"You aren't going to lose Prue," Jason replied quickly, hoping to assure the older man. "I would never do anything to take her away from this family or her… heritage."

"But that is exactly what you are doing," Victor argued angrily. For someone who had been so adamant about not wanting his daughters to be involved in magic when they were younger, he realized that he had switched his thoughts completely. But magic was a part of this family, he saw that now. And he loved Prue too much to let Jason walk away without a fight.

"No, it isn't," Jason retorted wearily. "Look, Victor, I've thought about this, and I really think it will be for the best."

"Who's best? Hers or yours?"

Forgetting his previous decision to refrain from upsetting Victor, Jason finally snapped, "Has it occurred to you that maybe Prue _doesn't_ want to stay here?" Victor stepped back as though he had been slapped, but Jason continued on regardless, "Her mother and both her aunts died in this house. She gets nightmares from it. Why would she want to stay here?"

"Have you talked to her about this?" Victor asked quietly, willing to accept defeat only if this truly was what Prue wanted.

Jason sighed. "Some, but not a lot," he admitted. "But I don't have to talk to her, I'm her father. I _know_," he finished firmly.

Victor rolled his eyes. "Or you think you know. You're just displacing your own feelings about this house onto Prue. You don't want to be here because this is where Phoebe…" He stopped abruptly, unable to say the last word.

"Died?" Jason suggested bitterly. He shook his head slowly and looked away. "We're falling apart, Victor. You might not see it, but we're not going to last long as a family. Maybe I do want to get out of it. Maybe I do want to make sure Prue is out of it. Maybe I don't want her to be here when we all finally crash and burn."

"We are not going to fall apart," Victor countered, his voice stern.

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Richard's vanquishing demons every day, and I don't know how much control he has over his powers. God only knows what Wyatt is doing, and I'm worried about Chris as well. Prue's getting nightmares, and you…" He let the sentence drift for a moment and waved his hand vaguely in Victor's general direction.

"What about me?" Victor asked suspiciously.

Jason sighed. "How much longer do you think you can hide how sick you are? How much longer until your grandchildren realize…?"

He didn't finish the sentence, he didn't have to. Victor knew exactly what he was implying. How much longer before the children realized that he was dying also?

Victor's knuckles grew even more white as his grip tightened even more on the top of the chair. "So you're just going to leave? You aren't going to stay and fight for this family?"

"I'm not taking Prue away for good. She'll still come to see you every week. Her entire family, what's left of it, is here."

"It's not the same, and you know it!" Victor spat. "You're just taking the easy way out."

Jason shrugged noncommittally and sighed. "Maybe I am. But my primary responsibility is not to this family, it is to Prue. I have to do what is best for her, and I think moving out of this house is the right decision. I'm sorry, Victor, but my mind is already made up."

* * *

She felt as though she was dying. A searing pain tore through her stomach and her breath caught in her throat. All around her, she could smell the acrid scent of smoke and charred wood. The heat was almost unbearable, and the bright orange and red lights that danced in front of her eyes made her head pound with a consistent rhythm.

"_Daddy_!"

The word burst from her lips at the same time she opened her eyes and found herself lying in the darkness of her bedroom. The soft sheets were tangled into a web around her, and her pillow was damp with tears.

The door slid open and she turned to see the silhouette of a man enter the room.

"Ria? What is it?"

"Grandpa?" Ria pushed herself into a sitting position and squinted at her grandfather.

"You just had a bad dream," Victor murmured, reaching out to wrap his arm around her. He sat down on the edge of the bed and gave her a wan smile while rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Just a nightmare."

"No," Ria said solemnly as the tear began to prick at her eyes and the burning sensation rose in the back of her throat. "No, it wasn't just a dream."

She remembered the feeling of dying, remembered the pain in her stomach, remembered the small of smoke and fire. And she remembered the one word that escaped her mouth as she woke.

Daddy.

So the next morning, when Daryl came to tell them that Richard's body had been found in an alley, that he had been stabbed and the ground around him was scorched with ash, Ria nodded slowly, looked up into Daryl's pain-filled eyes to old for her age, and replied simply, "I know."

* * *

_They distinguish between non-magical humans and witches with the term 'mortal.' It refers to a non-magical human. Not a witch, not a demon, not a white-lighter not a warlock. Just a human. A mortal._

_But it's rather misleading, because witches are _not_ immortal. The Charmed Ones were just women, their progeny are just children. They have powers, yes, but they bleed and they break and they die, just like everybody else._

* * *

Next Chapter: Survival by Any Means

Due: Sun 11/19


	3. Survival by Any Means

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter takes place about a year after the last one. I'm tyring to give a relatively realistic explanation of Wyatt's descent into darkness, so this chapter focuses mostly on that. It is kind of long, so bear with me.

* * *

Piper and Leo's sons: 

Wyatt-18

Chris-16

Phoebe and Jason's daughter

Prue-11

Paige and Richard's children:

Ria-10

Adam-7

* * *

Chapter Three: Survival By Any Means

"Wyatt, Chris!" Victor Bennet called, frustrated. "Get down here!" He smiled apologetically at the woman standing impatiently in the sunroom of the Manor, tapping her heel against the hardwood floor. "They'll be here in a minute, Mrs. Lakin."

Anya Lakin shrugged indifferently, shaking her strawberry blonde curls and flashing a cold smile. "I'm sure they are usually quite _punctual_," she murmured icily, pursing her crimson red lips. She glanced down at the notepad she was holding in one hand and made a brief mark on it.

Victor swallowed back a sharp retort and said, "Can I get you something to drink while you wait?"

Mrs. Lakin glanced at the door to the dining room, noting the pile of breakfast dishes on the table and the cascade of napkins that fell from the chair to the floor. "Thank you, no," she replied. "I don't think I'll risk it."

Victor flushed in embarrassment and hurried into the dining room, attempting to clear the dishes. He piled the entire set of dishes into his arms, and turned towards the kitchen, then a wave of dizziness washed over him and he stumbled, dropping his armload. The dishes smashed on the floor, shattering, and the sound of breaking ceramics brought both boys flying down the stairs.

"Grandpa?!" Chris called, running into the dining room. He was the first to reach his fallen grandfather, and he knelt down beside the man. Wyatt appeared a moment later, and he too hurried to the older man, but not before pausing to see the woman standing in the doorway.

"Who are you?" he demanded, dropping to his knees beside his brother and grandfather.

"My name is Anya Lakin. I'm a social worker sent her by the Child Protection Services. You must be Wyatt Halliwell," Mrs. Lakin replied unemotionally.

"Why were you sent?" Chris asked, puzzled, as he helped his grandfather to his feet. Victor waved off his grandson's help and pulled himself shakily to a standing position. Chris frowned, his eyes fixed on his grandfather, before turning back to the strange woman and waiting for an explanation.

"The Child Protection Services are a little worried," Mrs. Lakin replied smoothly. "We are unsure, due to Mr. Bennet's progressing lung cancer, that he is the best legal guardian for you." She smiled sweetly, her tone dripping with concern, but Chris and Wyatt flinched and glared at her all the same.

"I think Grandpa's a wonderful guardian!" Chris hissed.

Wyatt nodded fervently. "I agree," he replied, his voice hoarse at the thought of being shipped off to some unknown family.

"Well," Mrs. Lakin responded, "be that as it may, we have to consider what is best for you, even if it is not necessarily what you want." She turned blue eyes to Victor and asked quietly, "Surely you understand the necessity of _that_?"

"I want what is best for my boys," Victor replied stonily, his expression clearly unhappy.

"I don't want to be sent to a foster family!" Wyatt snapped, angrily, his eyes flashing dangerously. Neither Mrs. Lakin nor Victor paid him any attention, their gazes locked with each other in a silent battle of wills. Chris, however, could literally feel the angry power radiating from Wyatt, and glanced at his older brother in concern.

Over the past two years, Wyatt's temper had grown shorter and his powers had swung out of control. For a few weeks over the past summer, things would explode daily in the house, until Victor had stopped inviting his friends over, and Chris had been forced to hang out with all of his mortal friends at their houses. Wyatt had managed to get his powers under control again, but his temper still flared frequently.

Finally, Mrs. Lakin turned to Wyatt and said, "Well, this does not actually affect you, Wyatt. You are eighteen, you are a legal adult, and you can stay here if you want. But your brother…" She turned to Chris, her tone honeyed. "He is still only sixteen, such an impressionable age… You want to do what is best for him, don't you, Wyatt? Mr. Bennet?"

"Can't I get emancipation?" Chris asked desperately, his heart clenching at the thought of being taken away from his family.

"Not until you are seventeen," Mrs. Lakin replied. She patted Chris patronizingly on the arm and said, "I know this is hard for you, Christopher, but it isn't as though you won't see your brother or grandfather at all."

"You can't take him!" Wyatt spat, his tone desperate. "Not after Mom…" he choked on the words and looked away.

"What about Uncle Jason?" Chris begged hopefully. If his uncle could be his legal guardian, everything would be alright. Uncle Jason would let him stay at the Manor with his father and brother. Uncle Jason would understand.

"I'm afraid not," Mrs. Lakin said softly. "He is already the legal guardian for Paige Matthews and Richard Montana's children. Patricia and Adam, I believe?"

"Ria," Chris corrected automatically. Patricia hated when anyone used her full name, she believed it sounded too old and stuffy. It also brought back memories of her mother, who would use her full name whenever Ria was in trouble.

"Exactly," Mrs. Lakin continued smoothly. "As your uncle is already the legal guardian for two other children, I am afraid that Child Protection Services will not allow him to take you as well. He is, after all, a single parent." She looked decidedly uncomfortable when she said that, and Victor looked away, a flash of sorrow washing over his features as he thought of Phoebe. Mrs. Lakin finally looked at Victor and finished, "Look, Mr. Bennet, I know this is hard for you, but…"

"Do you?" Victor interrupted her, fixing her with a piercing stare. "Do you really?" The question lingered in the air, and Mrs. Lakin looked away. Of course she had no idea what it was like to lose three daughters, and then have a grandchild taken away as well.

"Can you honestly say that keeping Christopher here with you is for the best?" she asked at last. For a moment, the fake sympathy and arrogant compassion had disappeared. She stared at the three in front of her, and for once, her eyes were filled with honest concern and worry. She gestured to the broken plates on the floor, and said, "Can you honestly say that you can provide what is best for him?" The words were whispered, barely audible.

Victor closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slowly. Of course, to an outsider, it would look as though he was unable to adequately provide for his grandson. But how could he explain to her the dangers of splitting up the already almost destroyed Halliwell family? How could he explain demons and warlocks and dark-lighters and magic?

Mrs. Lakin smiled, the false kindness firmly back in place. "We are understanding of your situation, Christopher," she murmured, "and we have no desire to cause you any more… anguish… than absolutely necessary. That is why we are going to-"

Her words died as Wyatt abruptly lifted his hands and froze her in place.

Chris and Victor turned to Wyatt in surprise and Victor demanded disbelievingly, "What are you doing, Wyatt? You can't just freeze people!"

"She wants to take Chris!" the blonde witch-lighter snarled.

"We'll figure out a way to stop her," Victor said with a confidence he did not feel.

"And if we don't?" Wyatt asked pointedly.

"What about Dad?" Chris asked softly, looking up and meeting his grandfather's eyes. "He could take me."

"No," Victor said wearily, "he can't. It's too dangerous, we risk exposure."

Leo had no real government file on his person. Although Piper had doctored his birth certificate, and gotten him a passport, he had no adequate social security number, no proof of employment, no college or graduate school transcript, no rent papers for an apartment or mortgage papers for a house, no bank accounts, _nothing_. For all intents and purposes, the white-lighter simply did not exist.

And while they could most likely create a 'life' for him, it would be too dangerous. One mistake, one missed hole in their web of lies, and magic would be exposed to the world. And that would do Chris absolutely no good.

Victor ruffled Chris' hair gently, thinking about Leo. Although the white-lighter was gone more often than not, there was no doubt in his mind that Leo loved his sons with all his heart. Victor could see it in the way Leo looked at Chris and Wyatt, in the way that he interacted with them. And if he knew that Child Protection Services wanted to take Chris away, he would ignore all the danger and all the consequences in order to stop that from happening. No, it would be much better if Leo was not informed of the latest development.

As if reading his grandfather's mind, Wyatt said quietly, "We won't tell Dad." He turned stern eyes to Chris. "Understand?" he pressed. When Chris said nothing, Wyatt continued, "Chris, do you understand? Chris?"

Chris looked at Wyatt and nodded reluctantly. "I understand," he murmured, looking away and wishing he didn't have to agree.

Wyatt nodded in assent and flicked his wrists, unfreezing Mrs. Lakin.

"-put you on probation," Mrs. Lakin continued pleasantly, unaware of the time lapse. "As long as nothing happens, Chris may stay with you. But I will be checking in every few weeks, and if I see something I don't like…" she let the sentence hang, her cherry red lips smiling serenely at the other three.

"Probation?" Victor asked hopefully. "You won't take Chris away?"

"No," Mrs. Lakin said. "We won't take him away…" she looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the inch of dust that settled over the china cabinet, the pile of napkins on the chairs, and the ceramic shards that littered the floor, "…_yet_."

* * *

They came out of nowhere, blinking into the room as though they owned the place. Wyatt was on his feet in a heartbeat, instinctively preparing for a fight. Chris turned at the sound of his brother rising, and he too jumped to his feet in surprise, moving quickly towards the still sitting Victor, his first concern for his grandfather's safety. Victor, despite the several years of knowing about magic, of _living_ with magic, was still unsure how to respond to such a situation, and gaped, open mouthed, at the creatures that had invaded his house. 

"Chris, get Grandpa out of here!" Wyatt cried, raising his hands to deflect a fire-ball that had been hurled at him. He redirected it back at the offending warlock, watching in satisfaction as his opponent burst into flame.

Chris didn't need telling twice. He placed his hand on Victor's shoulder and the two disappeared in a swirl of orbs.

Wyatt, after making sure that his brother and grandfather were safe, quickly called upon his more dangerous powers. Electricity crackled from his fingers as he tossed on warlock across the room with a casual mental shrug. Bursts of power radiated from him, but for every warlock he killed, another took his place. The room was quickly filling with warlocks, and Wyatt could not hold them all off for long.

The Twice Blessed called upon his greatest strength, reaching out with one hand and crying, "Excalibur!" The legendary sword shimmered in front of him, and he snatched it from the air and spun around, beheading a warlock with fluid efficiency.

With the great sword in Wyatt's hands, the warlocks did not stand a chance. By the time Chris had rejoined his brother in the room, most of the warlocks had been reduced to ash. A few of the wiser ones had blinked away, realizing they were fighting a losing battle. Unfortunately, the grandfather clock had been smashed, the coffee table overturned, and the wicker loveseat broken. The floor was strewn with shards of glass and slivers of white and brown wood, an the carpet was shredded at one end. There were a few scorch marks on the walls, tribute to the energy balls that had been thrown.

But they were alive. All that mattered was that the three of them were still alive. Everything would be okay.

Except…

"What on _Earth_ happened here?"

Wyatt and Chris both spun around in surprise at the sound of the sharp voice coming from the doorway, and both grimaced inwardly at the sight of the incredulous and horrified look that graced the features of the last person they wanted to see.

"Mrs. Lakin," Chris said, taking the initiative and stepping forward, extending his hand towards the social worker. "It's nice to see you again."

Two eyebrows shot into the air and a set of blue eyes widened. "Nice to see you again, Christopher," she replied, her lips pursed together. She reached out and shook his hand, but her stare did not waver from the rest of the room. Behind her, Victor appeared on the stairs, looking around in nervous apprehension, but she ignored him.

"Does anyone have an explanation?" she asked coolly, finally shifting her gaze so that she was staring at Wyatt, who realized too late that he was still holding Excalibur in his hand. The Twice Blessed dropped the sword quickly and looked away, suddenly finding himself helpless and at a loss for words, and hating every moment of it.

"Mrs. Lakin, it isn't what you think," Victor said quickly, walking towards his grandchildren and surreptitiously checking to make sure all the warlocks were vanquished.

Mrs. Lakin spun to face him so quickly that he halted in his tracks, startled. "I assure you, Mr. Bennet, that I am currently completely unable to form _any_ thought about what I see here. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

It had been a few months since her first visit, and she would show up unannounced at random times to check and see how life for the small family progressed. Many of the times she stopped by she had interrupted some vanquish or other magical activity, and while Chris and Wyatt had managed to lie their way through whatever the situation was, Mrs. Lakin was getting suspicious. The three of them had known that one mistake would ruin it all.

And it appeared that the one mistake had been made.

And that was why Chris found himself in his room and hour later, packing his belongings.

Chris stuffed the last of his clothes into his suitcase and blinked through his tears. He had long since stopped trying to wipe the saltwater away, it just kept coming. He slammed the top of his suitcase shut and hunched over it, unable to think clearly past the burning ache in his chest.

Mrs. Lakin was taking him away.

She had left the house, absolutely appalled by what she had seen, and ordered Chris to be ready to go in an hour. She would return with reinforcements then, and she had warned Victor that he was not to do anything stupid like try to hide Chris. Wyatt had orbed away shortly after that, muttering something about needing to find the warlocks who had attacked and make sure they weren't a threat. Chris, however, had a shrewd guess that he simply did not want to be a witness to the final shredding apart of his family.

"Chris?" Victor appeared in the doorway, holding a mug of hot chocolate in one hand. His eyes were rimmed with red, evidence that he had been crying, but the tears were gone now. Victor intended to stay strong for his nephew, if for nothing else.

"Hey…" Chris breathed out the choked sob and felt the tears begin to flow even faster. All his strength gave way and suddenly he was huddled on the floor, sobbing. Victor crouched down next to him, rubbing soothing circles on his back. The action was so reminiscent of his mother that Chris couldn't help but cry harder.

"Let it all out," Victor whispered comfortingly, knowing there was nothing else he could do, nothing else he could say. Nothing that could make this okay again.

Finally Chris' tears subsided, and the young witch-lighter straightened up. "Almost time for me to go," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The hour was almost up…

* * *

Wyatt walked slowly towards the giant stone building in front of him. It stood out from all the others buildings on the street in both its imposing manor and incredibly ugliness. Columns rose up on either side of the door, as though the architect had wanted to add a touch of Greek style, but had forgotten to continue it past the door. The rest of the building was plain and uninviting with no decorations or adornments. Just a massive stone block, but one that, in Wyatt's mind, held very powerful people inside of it. 

The Office of the Child Protection Services.

The young Halliwell straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, then marched up the stairs to the door. He pushed it open and stepped into the building. He found himself in a large room filled with people milling back and forth. A reception desk stood at one end of the room, in between the people and a long snakelike hallway that disappeared into the back of the building. The floor was carpeted in a simple gray color, and the wall paper was a dark mauve.

Wyatt's first thought was that the inside was just an unsightly as the outside.

Through the throng of people standing in line to talk to the receptionist, Wyatt caught sight of Mrs. Lakin's blonde curls and crimson lips. She was talking to two men, both of whom were wearing uniforms and unusually grave expressions.

Wyatt pushed through the crowd. As soon as he was near enough to be heard, he called out desperately, "Mrs. Lakin! Mrs. Lakin."

The woman turned, her blue eyes widening slightly in surprise to see the Halliwell in front of her. "Mr. Halliwell," she murmured, reaching out and taking hold of his arm. Her fingers closed in a tight grip about his wrist as she forcibly lead him away from the two men and to a corner of the room. Once they were as far removed from the horde of people as was possible in the overly crowded room, she let go of his arm and frowned slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"You can't take Chris away." Wyatt saw no point beating around the bush, so he didn't. Speaking quickly and frankly, he continued, "He's family. After Mom died... And Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige… Please, I can't lose him too. I just can't."

Mrs. Lakin's hard expression softened slightly at the desperation in Wyatt's words. But her hands were tied by the law, and she couldn't leave Chris with his grandfather. Not after what she had seen.

"Wyatt, I know that you love your brother and that you don't want to lose him. I understand, really I do. But maybe staying with your grandfather isn't actually what is best for Chris. You have to think of what he needs," Mrs. Lakin said gently, trying to her best to get Wyatt to understand why this had to be done.

"What he needs is to stay with his family!" Wyatt protested, anger rapidly rising in his chest and showing in his eyes.

Mrs. Lakin stared at him, a strange feeling growing within her as she stared into his eyes. There was something about this boy that suddenly unnerved and unsettled her, a coldness that seemed to linger under skin. And in that moment, she abruptly remembered that she had seen a very lethal sword in this boys hands just an hour earlier.

"I don't know what you were playing at today, Mr. Halliwell," she said, switching back to her brisk busyness manner, "but when I see a destroyed living room and a sword being tossed about like a toy, I have to wonder whether or not that is the proper place for a child."

"Chris is not a child!" Wyatt snapped, knowing better than to try and explain why the room had been destroyed or why he had been wielding a deadly blade. If he started spouting information about warlocks and demons, Chris was sure to be moved some place far away from them all. And he would end up in an insane asylum.

But Wyatt couldn't help but think this would be so much easier if the entire world knew about magic. If they didn't have to hide who they really were behind a mesh of half-truths and lies.

"He is not an adult, either, and it is my job to make sure that he is cared for and safe," Mrs. Lakin countered. "And I do not think that your grandfather was doing a proper job of that. I'm sorry, Wyatt, but my decision on the matter is final." She turned and glanced back through the room until she located the two men she had been talking to moments before. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to finish my prior conversation before I pick your brother up." She turned and started to walk away.

Somewhere deep with his mind, Wyatt could here his mother lecturing him, telling him not to use magic on innocents, not to us his powers for personal gain. But he pushed the voice aside with an impatient mental shrug, not caring what his mother thought. This was _Chris_.

"Memories and unbending thoughts, vanish into thin air, so my brother will stay with us, as is only fair."

A golden light unnoticed by anyone else in the room washed over Mrs. Lakin's body, and Wyatt, satisfied with what he had done, squashed the tiny bit of guilt in his chest and walked from the building.

* * *

Chris sat stiffly on the sofa, watching the minutes pass by on the clock. He frowned, confused. Mrs. Lakin was already ten minutes late, and he had always imagined her to be a very punctual person. Wyatt was also not back yet, and he was worried that he would be forced to leave without saying goodbye to his brother. 

Victor was sitting on the wicker loveseat, leaning heavily against the white frame. His throat was dry, his lips parched, but he would not get up for water. He couldn't find the strength within him to move. So instead he watched Chris silently, and tried not to think about what life would be like without his youngest grandson.

After a few minutes of utter silence, Chris ventured a hesitant statement. "I expected her to be here by now."

Victor nodded, thinking the same thing. A tiny tendril of hope wove its way through his mind, but he refused to acknowledge it. He could not get his hopes up, only to have them dashed in the end.

"I pictured her as someone who got annoyed by lateness," Chris said with a tiny laugh, trying his level best to keep a brave face.

"I wonder where she is," Victor commented softly, his voice barely audible in the still room.

"She's not coming."

Chris and Victor both turned to look at Wyatt, who had just orbed into the room. The Twice Blessed child was standing behind them, his arms folded over his chest. The light from the windows fell across his face, making his blonde hair glow golden, and his face was flushed with something that Chris could only assume was triumph.

It was in that moment that Chris remembered just how powerful his brother really was.

"What do you mean?" Victor asked, standing and turning to his grandson.

Wyatt shrugged and stepped away from the windows and over to Chris. "I mean she's not coming." He offered no other explanation, but simply turned to Chris and ordered one sharp word. "Unpack." He jerked his head at the suitcase lying at Chris' feet.

"Wh-what?" Chris asked, not quite believing his ears. "I don't understand."

"You're not going anywhere," Wyatt replied coolly. Victor and Chris exchanged a confused look, and Wyatt continued, "She's not coming for you. You're staying with us."

"How do you know?" Victor asked suspiciously. He didn't want to believe that Wyatt would have done anything drastic to Mrs. Lakin, but what else would have gotten the woman to revoke her decision? He eyes Wyatt with growing apprehension, wondering just what had happened.

"I just do," Wyatt answered.

Victor nodded and said in a soft but commanding voice, "Wyatt, can I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment." He turned and walked away from the two brothers. Wyatt and Chris exchanged a look, Chris' anxious and Wyatt's annoyed, then Wyatt sighed and followed his grandfather.

The minute the two were alone, Victor closed the kitchen door sharply. "What did you do to her?" he demanded, drawing himself to his full height and glaring down at his disgruntled and rebellious grandson.

"Why do you care?" Wyatt shot back venomously. He angrily pushed the sloppy blonde locks out of his face and growled, "Does it matter what happened to her?"

"It does if you've hurt her," Victor replied quietly, but his tone was underlined with a steel that Wyatt rarely heard.

"Don't be ridiculous," Wyatt scoffed. "I modified her memory a little, its no big deal."

"You what…?" Victor asked faintly, staring at his eldest grandson as though seeing him clearly for the first time.

"What? It was just a simple spell to keep Chris here," Wyatt defended himself, not understanding why Victor was so upset. He knew he was never supposed to use magic for anything other than fighting demons and protecting his family, but this _was_ protecting his family. All he had done was keep them together, keep them safe. Wasn't that justifiable?

"You can't use your powers that way!" Victor breathed. "What would your mother say if…"

"_Don't_ bring her into this," Wyatt cut him off heatedly.

Victor nodded slowly and took another breath to control his anger and disappointment. "Wy, you know you are only suppose to use your powers to fight evil and save innocents."

Wyatt stared at Victor, and then suddenly felt all his pain and fury from all the loss of he past few years erupt within him. Before he knew what he was doing, he was yelling at his grandfather with as much passion as he could muster. "Mom died, and I couldn't save her! Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige were killed, and I wasn't around to hear their screams for help," Wyatt fairly yelled back. A plate behind him exploded, but he pushed on regardless, ignoring the apprehensive look that now adorned his grandfather's face. "My powers couldn't save them, couldn't keep them from being torn away from us, but they can save Chris. Why can't you understand?"

"Because Anya Lakin is not a demon," Victor replied, although he felt himself swayed by Wyatt's logic. He didn't want to lose Chris, not after losing all three of his daughters, and there was no possible way of explaining to Mrs. Lakin that warlocks had attacked.

"And I didn't kill her!" Wyatt shook his head in frustration and disgust. "You're acting like she was a saint that I killed. She wanted to take Chris away, and I stopped that from happening. Isn't that what you want, Grandpa? Don't you want Chris to stay here?"

"Of course I do," Victor argued weakly, caving slowly. "But you can't just…"

Wyatt turned around and stormed from the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him. He fumed silently, so furious that he hardly paid attention to where he was going. Until he ran straight into Chris, and knocked the younger witch-lighter to the ground.

"Chris!" Wyatt reached out his hand to his brother, pulling the green-eyed boy to his feet. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"I overheard you and Grandpa arguing," Chris said diffidently, his heart beating rapidly as he looked up into Wyatt's blue eyes. They seemed darker than usual, a deep navy instead of their normal bright sapphire. And they were cold, too cold.

"You overheard…?" Wyatt smirked. "You wouldn't have by any chance had your ear pressed against the door?" He watched the guilt that passed through his brother's features, then faded slowly away to be replaced by one of defiance.

"Maybe," Chris said noncommittally. "You both sounded upset."

Wyatt shrugged. "It's no big deal, Chris." He glanced back at the kitchen door. He wanted to go back in their and apologize to his grandfather for loosing his temper. And he wanted to beat some sense into the old man. But mostly, he just wanted to keep his family together and safe.

And nobody, not warlocks or demons, not Elders or white-lighters, not even the Child Protection Services, was ever going to stop him.

"I've got something I've got to do, okay?" he said, turning back to Chris. "If Grandpa asks, tell him I'll be back for dinner." He prepared to orb, but Chris reached out and placed a hand on his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"Wy? Is everything alright?"

There was real fear in Chris' eyes, a look that Wyatt normally did not see. His brother was terrified, although it was well hidden behind a mask of strength and determination.

"Of course," Wyatt replied quickly. He tried his best to force a smile, but he knew by the tightening of Chris' jaw and the suspicion that lingered in the bright green eyes, that his brother was not convinced. Sighing, Wyatt reached across and ruffled Chris' hair fondly, adopting his best 'I'm-your-older-brother-so-you-will-listen-to-me-tone,' said reassuringly, "Nothing is going to happen to you or Grandpa, I won't let it. We're a family, Chris. And family members protect each other. _Always_."

* * *

The first warlock slammed his fist into the rock wall and spun around to face the others that had gathered around him. He narrowed his eyes at their sheepish faces and growled, "How could you fail to kill them? It was just two measly witches and their dying grandfather." 

"It was the Twice Blessed," another warlock spoke up, raising his voice to be heard above the grumbling. "He is no mere witch." The others began to nod in agreement, voicing similar opinion.

"Enough!" the first warlock thundered. "The Twice Blessed is just a child, a mere eighteen-years-old. With our power, we could have taken on the Charmed Ones, and you are telling me that you were beaten by a child?"

"The Twice Blessed is much more powerful than the Charmed Ones ever were," a different warlock answered, his words low and menacing. "We underestimated him."

"How is that possible?" a fourth warlock asked, his deep yellow eyes showing confusion. "The Charmed Ones have always been hailed as the saviors of Good. Why are their powers so venerated if the Twice Blessed exceeds them in skill?"

"Perhaps the side of Good underestimated him as well," the first warlock mused, finally accepting his minions explanations as to why they failed.

"You have no idea how right you are."

The warlocks turned as one, training their eyes on the opposite side of the cave. In the shadows near a back corner a figure could just barely be seen, leaning idly against the wall. The figure moved, stepping out into the light and revealing blonde hair and blue eyes. In one hand, he carried an ancient sword.

Before the warlocks had time to react, Wyatt had vanquished three of them with a series of quick energy balls. Power radiating off of him in alarming waves of fury, electricity crackling down the length of his arms and erupting from his finger tips. Excalibur swung through the air, whistling with growing intensity, as several more warlocks turned into piles of ash.

They regrouped quickly, blinking in and out around the young Halliwell, throwing energy balls and athames. But it was never enough, and Wyatt simply deflected them with a telekinetic wave and a laugh.

He struck down one warlock and then another, each time picturing a family member in agony. First his mother's closed eyes as she took her last labored breath, then his father's broken-hearted look as he leaned over Piper's grave holding flowers in his shaking hands. Aunt Phoebe clutching at her stomach as blood seeped from the wound, and Uncle Jason's body burned almost past recognition. Aunt Paige's tear-streaked face as she attended yet another funeral, Uncle Richard holding her tightly in his arms. Chris and his cousins screaming as they ran from yet another demon attack, Grandpa staring white-faced at the warlocks that had just invaded his home.

Wyatt stopped and looked around the cave, realizing it was now almost entirely empty. Only the first warlock remained, the leader who had organized the assault on his family that almost resulted in Chris being taken away. The fury bubbled within him, but Wyatt held it back, and did nothing.

"Aren't you going to vanquish me too?" the warlock asked, his voice shaking with slight fear.

Wyatt shook his head. "No, I'm not. I want you to take a message to the other warlocks and demons in the Underworld."

"Oh?" the warlock asked skeptically.

"Go," Wyatt hissed. "Go and tell all your friends throughout the rest of the Underworld, if they so much as think of attacking my family or me, I will bring them to their knees and have them begging for death!"

* * *

Leo watched as his oldest son orbed back from the Underworld. As a white-lighter, he was able to keep a firm track on both his sons, unless they went to the Underworld. Then his sensing powers no longer worked, and he was left blind to their actions. 

But every Elder and every white-lighter had felt the sudden surge in magic, raw and almost uncontrollable, that filled the atmosphere.

He was no fool. He knew exactly what had happened when his son disappeared from his radar, and it terrified him to no end. He saw every day the sort of man his oldest was turning into, and he wanted to stop it. He wanted to keep the change from consuming Wyatt, he wanted to revert the Twice Blessed back into adorable little toddler he had once been.

But that was not to be.

And yet, part of him also understood what Wyatt had done, and could not fault him for it. Contrary to what many of the Elders and his own family believed, when he was not with his sons, he still watched everything they did and paid attention to every detail in their lives. And so he had seen Anya Lakin's first visit, and he had heard her threat, and he had been aware of Victor's decision not to inform him of the event.

And although it galled him, he had respected his father-in-law, because he knew that, in a way, the man was right. There was little he could do for his sons now, save watch over them and guide them as their white-lighter.

He had missed Chris' birthday last year. He had missed several of Wyatt's football games, and he had missed his nieces' and nephew's school play. He had sent them all letters filled with promises to spend entire days with them later on, and more often than not he fulfilled those promises. But it wasn't the same. He missed his family, and he knew they missed him, and he sincerely wished he could change it.

But how?

It had taken years, decades, to rebuild after the Titans. The Cleaners had to be involved because magic had been exposed to the world, but, as it turned out, the Cleaners did not have the power to erase the Titans. So first Leo had to convince the Elders to release the power of the gods, then the Charmed Ones had to defeat the Titans, and only then could the Cleaners be called. And by that point, the magical world was in disarray as good slowly fell apart and evil had a field day.

Decades. Leo had spent decades rebuilding. And it had taken him away from his family. It had hurt, not being there for every moment, and he often wondered if the sisters would have still been alive had he stayed around more.

But at the same time, he knew he never had a choice. He loved his family with all his heart and all his soul, but he had a higher calling, he had an entire world of people who depended on him, and how could he ever abandon them? He had always hated the way the Elders played with people's lives, but he never doubted that they did it for a reason.

Piper had once said that the Elders acted as though 'getting one up on evil was all that mattered, and to hell with everything else.' But Leo had seen what evil could do. He had seen children crying as their mothers were murdered, burned alive by fireballs. He had seen entire cities demolished by the Titans, and covens of witches wiped out by demonic clans. Families were ripped apart by this never ending war, leaving shattered memories and broken dreams behind. The ghosts of fallen innocents haunted the afterlife, reminding him that maybe, just maybe, the Elders had been right.

Getting one up on evil _was_ all that mattered.

He had long since stopped believing that there would ever be a final battle between good and evil. The war had existed since the beginning of time, and it would continue until the end of everything. So maybe the goal was not to win.

Maybe the goal was simply not to lose.

And staying one step ahead of evil was the only way to do that.

But now he wondered if they hadn't already lost. Because he had just seen the inside of his own son, he had seen the rage and fury and pain that bread hatred and cruelty. The prophesized Twice Blessed, the savoir of the magical world, the champion of all that was right and good… Wyatt Matthew Halliwell was slowly but surely becoming _none_ of those things.

Unless he could be saved. Leo resolved suddenly not to just give up on his son. He could never do that, _never_. Wyatt had not completely changed yet, he had not fully embraced the darkness, and if there was ever even the slightest chance that he could be brought back to the light, Leo had no intention of ever giving up.

And yet…

Uncalled for and unwanted, but incredibly powerful, a distant memory rose in his mind.

So many years ago, when the Titans had been released and nearly destroyed all of the magical world, a very wise Elder had said something to him. Something that had stuck with him, haunting his thoughts and dreams as he watched his family slowly fall apart.

_At the end of the day, even we can't change what is meant to be._

Was he already too late?

* * *

Next Chapter: Eyes Tightly Shut 

Due: Sun 11/26


	4. Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

Title: Shadows At Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter takes place a little under a year after the last one. I know Adam hasn't really shown up much in the story so far, but he will eventually. For now, he is just too young to really have much of a role.

* * *

Piper and Leo's sons: 

Wyatt-19

Chris-17

Phoebe and Jason's daughter

Prue-12

Paige and Richard's children:

Ria-11

Adam-8

* * *

Chapter Five: Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?

Wyatt spun around and threw an energy ball, watching in satisfaction as it slammed into the demon who had tried to sneak up on him. The demon burst into flames with a shriek of rage, then his body faded away into a swirl of ash that whipped around in the wind for a moment before settling on the sidewalk.

The Twice Blessed gave himself a satisfied smirk and turned to walk away. He had been out hunting demons, as usual, and tonight this hunt had lead him to a clan of lower level demons. There had been maybe ten or fifteen of them hiding out in their Underworld lair, but Wyatt had ignored the odds and effectively wiped them out. A few had escaped, and apparently one had followed him back up to the human world, intent on attacking him here.

Obviously, that plan had not worked out for the demon.

It was dark. Only a few stars twinkled in the night sky, and the moon was partially obscured by puffs of clouds. The streetlamp's unnatural yellow light fell over the gravel sidewalk, illuminating Wyatt's triumphant features just before he orbed away.

For a moment, the street was empty and silent. Then the sharp echo of footsteps on pavement indicated the presence of someone else. A man stepped out of the shadows and stared at the spot where Wyatt had stood only moments before. Confusion filled his cold brown eyes, but a moment later that confusion was replaced by a shrewdly calculating gaze.

Then he too walked away, and the street was silent once more.

* * *

Jason glanced up at the sound of a knock on the penthouse door. He looked over at Prue, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pencil as she attempted her math homework. But Prue didn't seem interested in who was at the door, so Jason got up from the sofa and went to answer it. 

It swung open to reveal a face that Jason knew only too well. Nathaniel Pratt, the mayor of San Francisco, and a man deemed to have no morals by almost everyone who knew him. He was well dressed in a crisp navy blue suit, and his face was arranged into a gentle smile. Despite his reputation for being both ruthless and slimy, he had the advantage of being attractive, intelligent, and incredibly charismatic. He was a born leader, and perhaps that was what made him a great politician.

But Jason wasn't thinking any of this as he stared at the man in front of him. He was thinking about a phone call he had received earlier that day, he was thinking about his dead wife and her obsession that magic always be protected from exposure, he was thinking about his twelve-year-old daughter camped on the ground behind him, and his niece and youngest nephew who were currently over at the Manor, visiting their other two cousins.

"Prue, go to your room," Jason ordered in a tone that left no room for argument.

Prue didn't even look at who was at the door. She gathered her belongings and disappeared down the hallway towards her room without a backward glance.

"Pretty child," Pratt commented with a wholly untrustworthy smile. "She doesn't look much like you though… she must take after her mother's side of the family?" There was a hidden meaning in his comment, and Jason flinched.

"What do you want, Pratt?" Jason spat. He knew he should be polite, he knew he should address the man as Mr. Mayor, or Mayor Pratt, or some other title of respect, but he couldn't bring himself to be civil to the man who had just made a veiled threat on his daughter.

"Well, now, I would have thought that was obvious from our conversation this afternoon," Pratt remarked with a raised eyebrow.

"Refresh my memory," Jason snarled.

Pratt smiled and gave a nod. "As you wish," he replied, stepping past Jason and entering the penthouse. "And let me say, Mr. Dean, that this is quite the apartment."

"I don't want your compliments," Jason snapped. "Get to the point."

"The point…? Hmm, well, that is an interesting question, now, isn't it?" Pratt mused as he took a seat in one of the armchairs and stared up at Jason with a pleased grin. "What is the point?" He seemed to be enjoying this game of cat and mouse, but the anger in Jason's eyes made him sigh and continue, "Two days ago, I witnessed a rather interesting event."

"Oh…?" Jason prompted, forcing himself to remain calm. Pratt had already relayed this _event_ to Jason over the phone that afternoon, and the newspaper owner knew it would not be a good idea to lose his temper until he found out just how many cards Pratt had in his hand.

"You see, I was out late at night, when I heard this scream. A rather horrible, inhuman scream. Of course, concerned about the safety and health of the person screaming, I quickly hurried towards the source of the noise. And do you know what I saw?" Pratt paused dramatically, waiting for Jason to answer.

"A cat stuck in a tree?" Jason ground out.

Pratt gave a slight laugh and shook his head. "Not quite, Mr. Dean. I saw a man… well, really he looked more like a boy… watching as another man was consumed with flames. Then I saw this man-boy walk away… and disappear as if by magic."

"Were you drinking?" Jason suggested.

Pratt laughed again, but the laughter did not reach his eyes. "Now, imagine my surprise at what I had witnessed. However, it was nothing compared to the surprise I felt when I discovered just who this man-boy had been. Your nephew…"

"I have three," Jason replied in a tone of forced calm. "Which of them are you implicating with this ridiculous story?"

"Wyatt Matthew Halliwell," Pratt replied, leaning back in the chair and studying Jason's wary face. "You know, it came as quite a surprise to me to find out just how many people related to Mr. Halliwell have died. His mother, his aunts, his uncle… Rather a strange coincidence, don't you think?"

"If you are in any way implying that Wyatt was responsible for those deaths…" Jason began heatedly, appalled at the very notion that anyone could suspect Wyatt of having killed his family.

"I'm not," Pratt cut in, waving a hand to disregard the accusation. "I am merely pointing out the… strangeness… of the situation."

Jason sighed and rubbed the back of his head absently, averting his gaze from the man who had invaded his home. He knew that Pratt wanted something from them, he would never have come here otherwise. But he didn't know what Pratt wanted, until he figured that out, he wouldn't know how to proceed.

But whatever he did, he knew he had to do it carefully. Pratt was a dangerous man to cross.

"Is there something specific you wanted from me?" Jason asked at last. Better to just bring everything out into the open than to wait and play guessing games where the stakes were his family's lives.

"I want what every politician wants. The White House."

Jason raised an eyebrow. Whatever he had expected Pratt to say, it wasn't that. But he supposed he should have seen it coming, the mayor was an ambitious man.

"I'm not entirely sure I can give that to you," Jason drawled with a thin smile.

"But perhaps your nephew can…?" Pratt stood up abruptly, and said coldly, "I want the White House, and I intend to get it. But I am a reasonable man, and I would be willing to start with just a spot in the Senate. The California senator is up for election next year, and I expect to win it."

"I don't know what you think we can do for you, Pratt, but if you are here to try to threaten me, you are making a very serious mistake," Jason replied, his voice just as cold.

"I could put surveillance around your house, Victor Bennet's house, your daughter's school… Trust me, Mr. Dean, sooner or later I can find proof of what you people are. And I can take that proof public, and watch the city burn you all at the stake if need be," Pratt warned, his tone now positively glacial. "Or… you can help me win this electoral race, and I can forget what I saw." He walked towards the door, glancing over his shoulder to say, "It's your choice."

And then he was gone, and the door swung shut behind him. Jason slammed his fist angrily into the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. He needed to talk to Leo, although that made him wonder if the Elder would actually even answer anyone's calls. Maybe he should talk to Chris instead? He knew instinctively not to bring this up with Wyatt, or the Twice Blessed might take things into his own hands, and Jason shuddered to think what would happen to Pratt then.

He wasn't blind, although apparently everyone else in the family was. No, he saw perfectly clearly what was happening to Wyatt, and that was one of the many reasons he was glad he had gotten his daughter out of the Manor while there was still time. He didn't want her oldest cousin's influence to rub off on her, she would have enough trouble coping with her magic powers as it was.

So if Wyatt was ruled out, and Leo probably wouldn't answer anyone's calls, then it really only left Chris as the person who could do anything about this. Maybe right a spell to erase Pratt's memories? He certainly didn't like the idea of dragging the seventeen-year-old into this, but did he have any other choice? Pratt would make good on his threat, Jason knew that.

Which meant they had to stop him before he stopped them.

Jason massaged his temples wearily. He needed time to think.

* * *

Prue watched as her father set the table. They had ordered pizza, which was rare. Usually Jason preferred to eat high class food, and they often ordered from some classy deli or restaurant. The fact that they were having pizza meant that something had happened to distract her father, and she had a fairly good idea what it was. 

Only a few hours ago, that strange man had come to talk to her father. She thought she recognized him, maybe from television or a movie, but she wasn't sure. What she did know was that her father had ordered her to leave the room, a sure sign that something serious had happened.

She wondered vaguely what it was.

The one thing the twelve-year-old knew for certain was that, if someone had gotten injured or died, her father would have told her right away. Which meant that whatever was going on, her family was still safe.

For now.

"Wash your hands, Prue," Jason called over his shoulder.

Prue nodded and walked towards the bathroom. It was just her and her father tonight, Ria and Adam were staying at the Manor for dinner. She was glad that they were gone, it gave her the chance to be with her father without having to share him with anyone else. She knew the thoughts were slightly selfish on her part, but she couldn't help it; she had lost her mother, she didn't like having to share her father with her two cousins.

Even if they had lost both their parents.

She stared at her pale face in the mirror for a moment, then sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Standing on her tip-toes, she was able to just barely reach the faucet. Turning the water on, she let the cold stream pour down over her hands.

She twisted slightly, reaching with one hand towards the hand towel that was draped over the side of the sink. As she did so, her fingers brushed against Ria's hairbrush which had been casually discarded by the witch-lighter earlier that day.

And then it happened.

It had happened in the past, enough that she was slightly used to the sudden rush of power and the way the world would spin around her before her eyes forced themselves to snap shut. But it still always slightly unnerved her, and she hated the way it left her with a throbbing headache and a strange dizziness.

Behind her closed eyelids, she saw the flash of lights. Shapes and colors spun around as a picture presented itself to her. She could feel heat burning up and down her arms, and smelled the acrid smell of smoke. Cries echoed in her ears sending waves of pain rushing through her.

She opened her eyes and found herself sitting on the floor of the bathroom. The water was still running, and she pulled herself wearily to her feet and turned it off. She bit her lip for a moment, wondering if she should tell her father what she had seen. Then she sighed and shook her head. He wasn't a witch, there was nothing he would be able to do about it.

No, she decided resolutely, she would tell Wyatt or Chris tonight. For right now, she would pretend that everything was fine.

"Prue?" her father called her name from the other room.

"Coming, Daddy," she called back, then left the bathroom, turning out the light and shutting the door behind her.

* * *

"Close your eyes and focus on what you saw," Wyatt instructed quietly. 

Prue nodded, a slight frown appearing on the skin between her eyebrows. She concentrated on the premonition, pulling the haunting memory to the front of her mind and replaying it behind closed eyelids.

It was late, and her father and cousins had already gone to bed. Dinner had been a silent affair, her father had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts to pay much attention to her. Ria and Adam had returned to the penthouse a little after eight, having been orbed there by Chris. Prue had pretty much ignored their presence and finished her homework, watched some television, then gone to bed. A few hours later, once the penthouse was completely silent, she had called for Wyatt, and explained about the premonition that she had seen earlier than evening.

Wyatt reached out and placed both his hands gently on top of hers. After a moment, she could feel the tingle of his power as it seeped slowly into her skin, and the soft brushing of his mind against hers as he tried to pick up the vision.

They had done this before, passing the memory between each other. Wyatt was always so careful to be gentle for fear of doing her mind any damage. His power was raw and intense, and it grated against hers if he wasn't cautious.

She replayed the premonition, and she could tell by the stiffening of Wyatt's hands and the sudden tension in the air between them that he had received the vision.

"Do you see…?"

Wyatt opened his eyes and nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I saw," he replied, his voice cold.

Prue flinched, surprised at his tone. Although, she reasoned, given what they had seen in that premonition, it made sense that her cousin would be upset.

She thought back to the fire and smoke that had danced in front of her closed eyes, and sighed. The premonition had been disturbing to say the least, and she was glad that she could share it with Wyatt. She didn't want to dwell too much on what it meant, it was too painful to think about. Besides, now that she had received this vision, they would have an opportunity to stop it.

Right?

Wyatt stood up. "Get some sleep, kiddo," he said, lowering his voice and smiling sympathetically at the younger girl. "I'll take care of it."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Wyatt said solemnly.

Prue looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. If he said he would take care of it, she trusted that he would. After all, he was Wyatt, the Twice Blessed, and her oldest cousin. He could do anything.

She crawled back under the covers of her bed and closed her eyes.

Wyatt stared at her for a moment, then walked out of her bedroom. He glanced at the closed door of his uncle's room, and for a moment seriously considered waking him up and telling him about the premonition. But he rejected the idea because it wasn't as though his uncle would actually be able to help with anything, and Wyatt was plenty powerful enough to take care of the threat on his own.

Instead, he turned and walked towards the other door in the hallway, which lead to the third bedroom. He pushed the door open, careful not to let the hinges squeak, and slipped unobtrusively over the plush white carpet towards the two beds lined up against the far wall.

Ria and Adam both slept soundly in their beds.

Wyatt smiled to himself, remembering an argument Jason had had with Prue a few weeks ago. The mortal had informed his daughter that soon she would have to share her room with Ria, and give Adam the room to himself. Prue hadn't understood why she would be forced to give up space in her room when it was Ria and Adam who were encroaching on what she saw as rightfully her space. Jason had attempted to explain that Adam was a boy, and both Ria and Prue were girls, and since the three were maturing and reaching their teenage years, it made sense that the girls would be the ones who would have to share a room. This was, unfortunately, not a distinction that the twelve-year-old witch really understood, and she had been absolutely livid at what her father was suggesting.

Wyatt almost laughed out loud at the recollection, but refrained because he didn't want to wake his youngest cousins. Instead, he murmured a protection spell under his breath, adding a few more layers of magical defense to the already well-fortified room.

If Prue's premonition came true…

Well, his family would need all the help they could get.

Satisfied that he had managed the spell properly, Wyatt slipped back out of the room, closed the door firmly, and orbed back to the Manor, his mind on Prue's premonition.

_Ria was screaming. _

_Her hands were tied behind her, inhibiting her ability to access her from accessing her powers. Something was preventing her from orbing. _

_The fire burned, the flames racing up the stake she was strapped to and eating away at her flesh. The air was heavy with smoke. She was choking._

_A man was standing behind her, laughing._

_The crowd had gathered. They were pushing closer to her, screaming and chanting the slogan over and over until the words rose in a crescendo that pounded with fervor and passion._

"_BURN, WITCH, BURN!"_

* * *

_"Wyatt! Wyatt, don't walk away from me!" _

_"Why not, Dad? _You _walked away from _us!_"_

_"I did _not _walk away from you. I still answer your calls every time, and I come to see you…" _

_"When you have the chance, I _know. _You tell us that all the time. You love us and you wish you could spend more time with us. Well, guess what Dad, wishes don't mean much to me anymore."_

_"Wyatt, I may not be the best father, but I am your father and I still love you. And I am worried about you. What you did to Anya Lakin…" _

_"What about it? I kept Chris out of foster care, I kept the family together. Which is more than you've ever done." _

_"You _erased _her memory. You cast a spell on her!" _

_"So?" _

_"Don't you see that what you did was wrong?" _

_"Oh, stuff it, Dad." _

_"Wyatt! Wyatt, don't orb away from me when we are in the middle of… Wyatt! _Wyatt!_"_

That conversation had occured only a few weeks ago, and it left Wyatt so angry he had actually contemplated blowing up his father. How dare Leo judge him? He was keeping his family together, which was exactly what his mother and aunts would have wanted.

Speaking of which...

He still had to worry about Pratt.

Wyatt shivered and glanced around the waiting room. He kept thinking back to Prue's premonition, not quite able to forget Ria's panicked screams. It was the evening after he had seen what Prue had seen, and he had spent the entire day trying to think up a solution to the problem.

* * *

The clock on the wall chimed six times. 

Six o'clock.

He had told Chris he was going to the library to do some work. He was a freshman at UC San Francisco, and although he still spent most of his time in the Manor, he did actually have to study for his classes every now and then so that he would not fail them.

It was a joke, really, going to these classes. He had no desire to do anything not related to magic. _That_ was his life, not these stupid subjects filled with random facts that would never actually help him. He was the Twice Blessed, not some stuffy academic who studied old laws and the systems of the bodies and the political and social changes that had occurred in random countries throughout the past few centuries.

But his grandfather refused, point blank, to let him skip college, and so he was forced to attend class and pretend to be interested in world history and English and politics.

But he had told Chris he was going to the library, and that he would be home by five-thirty.

He was late.

* * *

Chris grabbed the pot from the stove, yanking it away from the heat just as it managed to boil over and spill a trail of pale yellow liquid over his fingers and onto the floor. "Damn it!" He set the pot down on the counter and rubbed the back of his slightly burned fingers idly as he walked over to the sink. Grabbing a dish towel, he knelt down on the floor and mopped up the puddle of chicken soup. 

Chris stood slowly and glanced over at the clock on the wall. It was six o'clock, Wyatt was supposed to have returned half-an-hour ago.

* * *

Finally, the receptionist looked up at Wyatt and gave him a cheerful smile. "The Mayor will see you know, Mr. Halliwell," she announced. 

Half-an-hour prior, the nineteen-year-old had walked into the office and announced that he wanted to speak to the Mayor. He hadn't had an appointment, so the receptionist had not been inclined to allow him access to one of the most important men in San Francisco. But, as was custom, she checked with the Mayor first, and he had been intrigued to discover that Wyatt Halliwell was here to see him. He had ordered her to tell the boy to wait, and she had complied.

So the blonde teenager had been waiting for half-an-hour, and he looked impatient.

He stood up quickly and smiled at the receptionist, but there was something about his eyes that made her flinch and look away.

* * *

Chris set three places on the table. Ria and Adam were eating at the penthouse with Prue and Jason tonight, so it was only Wyatt, Chris, and Victor for dinner. 

The timer began to buzz, indicating that the lasagna was done. Chris turned and hurried over to the oven. Carefully slipping his hand into one of the oven gloves, he opened the door and pulled out the main dish. He set it on the counter and glanced at the clock again.

It was unlike Wyatt to be this late.

* * *

Wyatt strode into the mayor's inner office, his pose filled with confidence. His blue eyes were dark, darkened to a deep midnight, as he struggled to keep his rage in check. 

He remembered the premonition.

He remembered the man laughing as his cousin was burned at the stake.

He had recognized that man.

Nathaniel Pratt was sitting behind his desk, staring at Wyatt with a mixture of curiosity and supreme smugness on his face.

If he had known just how dangerous Wyatt was, he might not have looked so confidant.

* * *

Chris rummaged around in the refrigerator for a moment, looking for some vegetables to cut up and use in a salad. 

His mother had always insisted on a vegetable at every meal, and he had never quite been able to forget her rule, even though she was no longer their to enforce it.

Victor was upstairs, probably sitting in his room and reading a magazine or the newspaper. He had been getting weaker lately, and although he insisted that it was just the flu, and that he would get better soon, Chris was starting to wonder.

Sometimes Jason would look at Victor with an expression on his face… an accusation almost, as though Victor knew something that he wasn't telling anyone else.

He said it was just a cold.

Chris wanted to believe that, but he wasn't sure he could.

He also wasn't sure he could deal with losing someone else that he loved.

He pulled out some lettuce, cucumber, red peppers, tomatoes, and carrots, then walked over to the silverware drawer to grab a knife. He glanced at the clock for the third time and sighed.

Where was Wyatt?

* * *

"Did your uncle send you?" Pratt asked casually, leaning back in his chair and eyeing Wyatt. 

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?" he demanded, surprised. Did Jason know something that he hadn't shared with the rest of the family? The idea angered him, how could his uncle keep something as serious as this a secret?

Of course, he wasn't exactly sure what it was Jason and Pratt had talked about, but he knew it somehow had to be related to what Prue had seen in her premonition.

Pratt, seeming to realize that he had misplayed his first card, backtracked and said quickly, "Nothing, Mr. Halliwell. What can I do for you?"

Wyatt blinked, suddenly unsure. He hadn't really thought past meeting the Mayor. He didn't know what he was going to do now, what his next step should be. He had to make sure what he saw never came true, he had to protect Ria, but it occurred to him that he had no idea why Pratt would be burning Ria at the stake, or even how he knew that Ria was a witch in the first place.

"You could start by telling me why you decided to speak to my uncle?" Wyatt informed the other man. It was better not to show the cards in his hand before he was sure what Pratt had up his sleeve.

"Surely you know the answer to that?" Pratt retorted, shaking his head.

"Remind me," Wyatt spat.

"Do you really think playing dumb is going to help your cause?" Pratt mocked. "I saw you, Mr. Halliwell. I saw what you did. I _know_. I know who and what you are…witch."

* * *

Wyatt had blocked his signal. 

Chris pondered this as he cut the peppers into strips. Why would Wyatt want to hide where he was? Had he gone to the Underworld? Was he meeting some girl that he didn't want anyone to know about? Was he out drinking?

It didn't make any sense. Even when Wyatt blocked his signal from everyone else, he rarely blocked it from Chris. He had always told Chris that he never saw a reason for hiding his whereabouts from him. They were brothers, they didn't need to have secrets.

So what was Wyatt hiding now?

* * *

Wyatt frowned, realizing that whatever Pratt was talking about, he was actually a serious threat. Had he seen someone using magic? Had he seen _Wyatt_ using magic? 

"You don't have proof," Wyatt countered. "No one would believe you."

"I'll get proof," Pratt replied with a cocky smile. "Trust me, I will get proof from you." He looked away, swiveling in his chair so that he was staring at the window behind him. The city sprawled out far below, giving him an amazing view. It was once of the benefits of having an office in one of the tallest high rises in the city.

"And what will you do with that proof?" Wyatt asked, struggling to keep his voice calm as his hands clenched into fists.

_Ria, screaming…_

"Well, I suppose that depends on whether or not you help me," Pratt answered smoothly, glancing back over his shoulder at Wyatt.

"Help you?" Wyatt echoed. His eyebrows came together in confusion. Help with what?

* * *

Chris tossed the salad and set it on the table, placing two bottles of dressing next to it. He looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes to seven o'clock. 

Wyatt was forty-five minutes late.

Where was he?

* * *

"Your uncle knows the terms of the deal, Mr. Halliwell. I think it is a very generous one on my part," Pratt informed the witch. "After all, I am willing to overlook who you are and what you did, just as long as you help me." He folded his hands in his lap. "Really, winning a senate race is not too much to ask from you, is it? Just use your… magic… and we'll forget everything I saw." 

Wyatt's eyes narrowed. "A race? You're willing to get my family killed just so that you can win an election?" he hissed.

"You killed a man," Pratt shot back, his own eyes narrowing into thin slits as well. "And I find it quite interesting that most of your family has passed away as well…" His tone left little doubt as to what he was implying.

"Leave them out of this," Wyatt snarled, his face twisted with fury. Power crackled in his hands, and he was forced to clench his fists tightly to keep an energy ball from appearing. His fingernails bit into the skin of his palm.

"Why do you care?" Pratt asked, standing up. "They're dead, and my guess is, you had something to do with those deaths. Just like you did with that man I saw."

Wyatt's face flushed crimson with rage and pain.

"How did they die, Mr. Halliwell? Did they burst into flames also? I think that would be a fitting end for you as well. Poetic justice…"

"How dare you?" Wyatt exploded.

_Ria, flames burning her skin…_

_Pratt laughing…_

"How dare I?" Pratt mocked. "How dare _I_? You're the one who is killing people, Mr. Halliwell. Now, I am giving you a choice. You can help me, and I can forget everything I know about you. Or you can refuse to help me, and I can tell the world who you are. Your choice."

Interesting set of morals. He was quite willing to overlook what he presumed were a series of murders Wyatt had committed if it helped him win his electoral race.

But Wyatt was too preoccupied with protecting his family to care about Pratt's morals, or lack thereof.

"Did it ever occur to you," Wyatt asked in a dangerously low voice, "that if I've killed other people, I might have no problem killing you?"

* * *

Chris stared around the kitchen. Everything was ready. The soup and lasagna were on the counter, the salad was on the table. Each of the glasses was filled with orange juice, the napkins were carefully folded and set next to the plates, and the forks and knives were placed on top of the napkins. 

It was a nicely set table, and staring at it, Chris suddenly felt a burning behind his eyes and a lump form in his throat. He struggled to keep the tears at bay, but he couldn't help but think that his mother would have been proud of his cooking abilities.

Of course, Wyatt was a walking disaster in the kitchen, and Victor could barely tell the difference between the sugar and the salt, so if Chris didn't do the cooking, they would all starve.

The burning sensation faded and he was able to blink the tears away. He forcefully shoved his thoughts away from his mother, he couldn't deal with that right now.

He sighed and slowly stretched his arms, feeling his tense muscles strain at the movement. An uneasy feeling was growing in his stomach as he looked at the clock one last time. Was Wyatt in some form of trouble? Was that why he was so late? Did he need help? Should Chris be scrying for him now?

But if Wyatt was in trouble, he wouldn't have blocked his signal, right? He would have left it open so that someone could find him. Even if he was in the Underworld, Chris should have been able to locate him. They were brothers, their bond superseded the blocking powers of the Underworld.

So Wyatt couldn't be in trouble. He was just off doing something that he didn't want anyone to know about.

Somehow, that didn't reassure Chris in the least.

* * *

"Are you threatening me?" 

"You're threatening me," Wyatt retorted.

"You're… _inhuman_," Pratt snarled. "You've _killed_. You're a… freak. You don't deserve life, you deserve to pay for your crimes."

"And one day, you will have to pay for your crimes as well,' Wyatt replied with an icy smirk.

Pratt crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you refusing to help me?"

"Yes."

"Then I will see you burned at the stake. You and every other unnatural freak in this city," Pratt declared. "And when the people of California realize who you are, and see that I am trying to protect them, they will elect me as their senator anyway. I will win this, Mr. Halliwell. I _will_ win."

_Ria, screaming…._

"Don't you dare threaten my family!" Wyatt bit back the urge to throttle the man in front of him, and fought against the sudden swelling of power within him.

"You made your choice. You'll have to live with the consequences," Pratt replied smugly.

_Nothing is going to happen to you or Grandpa, I won't let it. We're a family, Chris. And family members protect each other. Always._

"You don't want me as an enemy, Mayor," Wyatt warned dangerously. His eyes were slowly turning black.

"And you don't want me as your enemy, Mr. Halliwell," Pratt shot back, his smile turning into a sneer. "You may have magic, but there are other forms of power, and I have those."

_Why do I have to train, Daddy? I don't even like Excalibur!_

_You need to practice so that you can protect innocents. So that you can protect your family. One day, you might have to look after Chris. You might have to keep him safe._

"You think your power can protect you from me?" Wyatt almost laughed at the comment. He was the one with the power, so much more than Pratt could possibly realize. He was the Twice Blessed. He was unstoppable.

"It's about _power_, Mr. Halliwell. Perhaps you haven't learned this yet, but life is all about power. I _will_ win, and I will see you burn at the stake. You and any other witch in your family."

_Wyatt, you're a big boy, and sometimes you are going to have to look out for your little brother or your cousins. Can you do that for me? Can you promise me you will always protect them?_

_Yes, Mommy. I promise. Always._

"Stay away from them. This is your last warning," Wyatt growled, his vision turning red as fire burst against his skin, trying to force itself from his clenched firsts.

Pratt smirked. "Make me."

Wyatt wasn't sure how it happened. One moment he was staring at Pratt, struggling to keep his temper in check as the man threatened his family, and the next moment…

The next moment the energy burst from his open palm…

Fury, rage, raw, unadulterated power…

Uncontrollable…

Fueled by emotions, by fear and passion…

Wyatt stared in horror at the place where Pratt had stood only moments before. But the mayor was gone now, and there was nothing left but a pile of gray ashes that settled on the polished floor.

"Oh, God…"

_What have I done?_

* * *

Chris walked towards the stairs to call his grandfather. Dinner was ready, and the lasagna would get cold if they waited much longer. He didn't want to eat without Wyatt, but he was hungry. And Wyatt was late. 

Unbidden, he remembered a conversation he had had with his father…no, he mentally corrected himself, with _Leo_… several months ago.

Leo was sure Wyatt was changing.

Chris thought about that for a moment, then pushed the idea out of his head.

He knew Wyatt. Wyatt was his brother.

Whatever Wyatt was hiding now…

Whatever it was, Chris decided, it couldn't be that serious. Wyatt wouldn't lie to him about something important. Wyatt wouldn't keep secrets from him.

Right?

* * *

_Go to sleep, kiddo. I'll take care of it._

_Promise?_

_I promise._

Wyatt hesitated for a moment, then waved his hand and orbed the pile of ash away. He turned and walked to the door, stepping out into the waiting area. The receptionist looked at him expectantly, and he felt a wave of sickness sweep through him. Forcing himself to remain calm and poised, he said quietly, "The Mayor doesn't want to be disturbed. He says you are free to go, and he'll lock up on his way out."

The receptionist nodded, and Wyatt walked past her and towards the elevator. He pressed the down button and waited.

He had killed a man.

Pratt had been a threat to his family. Ria would have been burned at the stake.

He had _killed_ a man.

His heart beat frantically in his chest. The guilt ate away at him, a darkness growing inside of him, twisting and wrapping itself tightly around his heart.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped inside, then pressed the button for the lobby.

In the silence of the empty elevator, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool metal walls.

He had killed a man.

And yet…

If he had had that entire conversation to redo, if he could go back in time and change what he had done…

He still would have killed him.

He would watch the Mayor burn a thousand times before letting anyone hurt his family.

Because Pratt had been right about one thing.

It _was_ all about power.


	5. Fine Lines

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: I'm back! So, this story has taken a lot more work than I thought it would, and it is going to be slow going for a while. I apologize. I'll try to keep on schedule with my updates, but it really helps inspire me to write more if people review (hint, hint).

This takes place a year after the last chapter (in which Wyatt killed Pratt).

* * *

Piper and Leo's sons:

Wyatt-20

Chris-18

Phoebe and Jason's daughter

Prue-13

Paige and Richard's children:

Ria-12

Adam-9

* * *

Chapter Five: Fine Lines

"_Chris, please, listen to me."_

"Listen_? Listen to _you_? You have got to be out of your mind, _Dad_. You can't just orb in here after months of being gone and expect me to believe that there is anything wrong with Wyatt."_

"_Don't you see that he is changing?"_

"_All I see is that he is doing what needs to be done to keep this family together. Something you obviously _never_ cared about."_

"_I cared…"_

"_And this is your way of showing it? _Bailing_ on us when we need you the most and then coming back when we _finally_ don't want you and trying to tell me that Wy is changing? How the hell would _you_ even know if he is changing? You haven't been here long enough to know what he is like!"_

"_He's _hunting_ demons, Chris."_

"_We're supposed to vanquish demons, Dad. It's part of our job."_

"_Vanquish, yes. But not hunt. Not the way he is. He is in trouble. Evil will get a hold of him somehow. Maybe they already have. He's leaving himself open to their influence. Don't you see that…"_

"No!_ No, I don't see whatever it is you are trying to convince me of. He's my _brother_, and he is _perfectly_ fine!"_

"_What if you are wrong? He could be in trouble and you are refusing to help simply because of issues you have with me?"_

"_He isn't in trouble!"_

"_The Underworld is afraid of him!"_

"Good_."_

"_No, that isn't good. They're terrified him because he's…"_

"_What, Dad? He's vanquishing them? He's hunting them? Whatever you want to call it, it means the same thing to me. He's avenging Mom's death. He cared _enough_ about her to avenge her."_

"_I cared, Chris. I _loved_ your mother."_

"_I know. You loved Mom. It was just me you couldn't be bothered with."_

"That is not true!"

"_So this is your idea of showing that you care? Thanks, but I'll pass. I prefer people who actually remember to show up for… well, _anything_."_

"_Chris, please, just think about what I said. Think about who he is and what he has done. Vanquishing demons at all hours of the night, and erasing Anya Lakin's memory? This isn't your brother."_

"…_you knew…?"_

"_What?"_

"_You knew? You _knew_ that Anya Lakin wanted to take me away from Grandpa and Wyatt? You knew that she wanted to tear us apart and you… _you did nothing_? You just let her… you… you didn't _try_ to save me?"_

"_I couldn't. Your grandfather didn't want me involved…"_

"Don't_ blame this on Grandpa! And don't tell me Wyatt's screwed up either. At least he cares enough to keep me out of foster care. Something that _obviously_ didn't upset you at all!"_

"_Wyatt had the right intentions, Chris, but he went about it the wrong way. And the wrong thing for the right reasons is still the wrong thing. Wyatt crossed a line."_

"_I think I know him better than you do, _Leo_. I grew up with him, while you were off in Elder Land. Why don't you go back there and meditate with them! It's all you'll ever be good at."_

"_Chris, please…"_

"_No. I'm sick of listening to you. I don't care what you think anymore. Just _get out_."_

* * *

Sunlight streamed into the sunroom, falling across the floor and traveling up the walls. Victor leaned back in his armchair, soaking up the warmth. Chris was sitting across from him on the wicker loveseat, his legs pulled into his chest, a thoughtful expression on his face. The rest of the house was empty and silent.

"What are you thinking?" Victor asked, drawing Chris out of his reverie.

Chris blinked and gave a small shrug. "Nothing much, Grandpa," he replied. He didn't want to tell his grandfather about the argument with Leo. It had been two weeks since his white-lighter father had paid a visit, and the memory of the conversation still filled him with fury. How could Leo preach about Wyatt turning when he wasn't even willing to intervene to keep his son out of foster care?

"That's a pretty serious expression for thinking about nothing," Victor pried.

"Just… Dad," Chris said at last. He hated lying to his grandfather, but he was very skilled and telling half-truths and more often than not relied on that particular trait to avoid unpleasant conversations.

"What about him?" Victor asked. His words were calm and measured, but even Chris could hear the anger he hadn't quite managed to keep out of his voice.

"I spoke to him a couple weeks ago," Chris replied carefully. "He just got under my skin again." He got up and walked over to the windows, staring out at the brilliant blue sky. "It's a nice day out."

"Yes, it is," Victor replied. He had a blanket draped over his knees, and he tucked it in tightly around his waste. His face was pale and wrinkled, and his hands looked strange to him, like the gnarled hands of a dying man.

Which, he reminded himself, he was.

All that smoking was finally catching up with him. His doctor was not that hopeful with the diagnosis, and he hoped he make it through the next few months, he wanted to see Chris graduate from high school.

He hadn't told Chris the truth. He hadn't told anyone the truth, although Jason had figured it out at one point. He didn't see a reason to burden them with this knowledge, things were hard enough already.

"Where's Wyatt?" Victor asked, stretching his arms as he yawned. His tired muscles protested painfully, but he ignored the throbbing.

"Class," Chris replied. He lapsed into silence, his expression falling into one of contemplation, and Victor couldn't help but wonder what thoughts moved behind the young witch-lighters calm façade.

The chime of the grandfather clock filled the room, breaking the peace.

"Grandpa?" Chris asked hesitantly. "I was thinking…"

"That's a very dangerous thing to do," Victor said with a smile as Chris let his sentence drift. But Chris didn't return the smile, didn't look up at his grandfather, and Victor knew it was serious. "What were you thinking?" he asked.

"What if I didn't go to college right away?" Chris said softly, averting his eyes from his grandfather's startled gaze. "What if I took a year or two off and worked?"

"Why would you want to do that?" Victor pressed, surprised and slightly dismayed. He'd always hoped that Chris would get out of the city for college. The boy had been around death and despair for too long, and it was time for him to set out on his own, to see that the world had more to it than just constant battles and constant death.

Chris slanted a look at the older man and opened his mouth to reply. He paused, unable to find the right words to explain why he needed to stay here. He wasn't even sure he could explain it to himself, but something told him his family was going to need him more than ever in the coming years.

"Just a year or two," Chris said again. He shrugged. "I just thought it would be nice."

"We'll talk about it later," Victor answered, realizing from the look on Chris' face that he wasn't going to get any answers at the moment.

"How much later?" Chris asked. "We're running out of time." His words had a double meaning, he was running out of time as the college application deadline approached, but his grandfather was also running out of time as…

He wouldn't think it.

He knew his grandfather was sick. He could tell from the pale skin, the constant fatigue that settled over the deep wrinkles of his face. He could almost feel the Angel of Death wandering through the house, stalking it's inhabitants.

Victor shook his head. "We have plenty of time, Chris. Applications aren't due for a couple months." He stood up slowly, resting his weight on the back of the armchair. Reaching out, he ruffled Chris' hair and said affectionately, "We've got plenty of time." Then he turned and walked from the room, a slow and wobbling gait that shifted his weight from side to side.

Chris watched him go in silence.

Victor had said they had plenty of time.

_Liar._

* * *

Jason stared out of the window of his office, lost in thought. A year ago, he had thought his life was about to end. He had thought that Nathaniel Pratt would expose them all, and the public would burn them at the stake. But then Pratt had mysteriously disappeared, and the threat had been removed.

People don't just disappear, especially not ones as power and ambitious as Pratt. Jason had a shrewd guess that he'd been made to disappear, and someone in the Underworld had been behind the scheme. After all, the demonic world would not be pleased if they were exposed.

He had been content to let it settle at that. There had been plenty of other problems to occupy his mind. Chris' growing despondent attitude and Victor's failing health. Magical threats to take care of, and three children to raise, only one of which was actually his own. And Wyatt, who was increasingly short tempered and absent.

It was all he could do to keep the broken family from falling completely apart.

Jason had let the matter of Pratt slip from his mind.

Until now.

The letter had appeared on his desk, unmarked and sealed. He'd opened it, and inside he'd found a sheaf of papers. They were the sign in sheets for Mayor Pratt's office, the papers on which all visitors had to write their names. They were for the week the mayor had disappeared, and on the day he had disappeared, the name of the last person to see him was highlighted in bright yellow.

Wyatt Halliwell.

Jason stared out of the window of his office. He had no idea what to do.

* * *

"Chris, I need your help."

Chris glanced up as the blue lights coalesced into his brother, and he raised an eyebrow at the statement. Wyatt rarely came to him for help, especially in the past several months.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Chris asked pointedly. He was sitting on his bed, his knees pulled into his chest, scattered papers and two open books lying around him. It had been his attempt at doing homework, but somewhere along the way he'd lost interest in the subject.

"I did something," Wyatt said, ignoring Chris' question. "And now there's a problem." He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Chris. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a black shirt, and his blonde hair was messy and tangled. But his blue eyes were still bright, and now they were filled with worry.

"What happened?" Chris asked, confused.

"Do you remember Nathaniel Pratt?" Wyatt asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Mayor of San Francisco," Chris said instantly. "He disappeared a year ago. No one knows what happened to him."

Wyatt sighed, a long, drawn out exhalation. "_I_ know what happened to him."

Something cold and heavy settled in Chris' stomach, something twisted his insides until he had to fight to keep the tears out of his eyes. Wyatt didn't have to say anything else, Chris understood. He looked away from his brother, unable to focus on anything. Finally, he managed to choke out, "Why?"

Wyatt closed his eyes. He always knew Chris would ask the question. Unlike the rest of his family, who would immediately condemn his actions, Chris would at least _try_ to understand.

"He saw me vanquish a demon," Wyatt explained, opening his eyes and fixing Chris with a hard stare. "He… He wanted to expose us. He threatened Uncle Jason."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Uncle Jason never mentioned that," he said slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly in anger.

"No, he didn't," Wyatt agreed bitterly. "I guess he thought it better if we didn't know." He was silent for a moment, thinking back to the point when he had first realized that Jason knew they were all in danger and had said nothing. The boiling hot anger he had felt then came back.

"How did you find out?" Chris murmured.

"Prue had a premonition of Ria being burned at the stake," Wyatt explained. He saw Chris' eyes widen, saw the horror fill his little brother's face, and continued, "I went to talk to Pratt. I just… I wanted to try to reason with him. But he kept threatening me, threatening all of us. I… lost control."

Chris picked up one of the books on the bed and flipped through the pages absently, unable to meet his brother's gaze. It had been a year since this had happened, and Wyatt had told no one. Chris wasn't sure what to think of it, and he stared blankly at the words on the page in front of him, trying to find some order in his jumbled thoughts.

"I covered my tracks, Chris. I got rid of the ashes and I left the office. Later, I went back and erased my name from the sign-in sheet."

"I guess you really thought it out," Chris said, and there was something in his voice that caused Wyatt to give him a sharp look. "Dad thinks you've changed," Chris said abruptly, and he didn't know where the words came from. It wasn't what he had meant to see.

"We've all changed, Chris," Wyatt replied. He reached out and placed a hand on his brother's arm, and he was pleased that Chris did not flinch away. "It was an accident, Chris. Please, you have to believe me. I never meant for this to happen."

Chris nodded slowly, then pulled his arm out of Wyatt's grip and stood up. He started pacing the length of the room. "Okay," Chris said quietly. "Let's suppose I believe you. Why are you telling me this now? And what do you need my help for?"

"Someone put my name back on the sheet and sent it to Uncle Jason," Wyatt explained, watching his brother with a piercing gaze. "Someone knows what I did, and now Uncle Jason does as well." He didn't say anything else, and Chris kept pacing, but they both knew what the real problem was.

"So explain it to Uncle Jason," Chris said at last. "Maybe he'll understand."

"He won't," Wyatt said firmly. He knew it, and Chris knew it. Jason would see this as an act of evil, and God only knew what he'd do then.

"Then I don't know how I can help you," Chris retorted. He finally stopped pacing and turned to look at his brother.

His brother… They'd set the oven on fire trying to make cookies once, and even though they'd managed to put it out, they hidden under their beds, afraid of their mother's wrath. Wyatt had taught him how to ride a bike and how to play soccer, and once even how to hit a baseball. But then Chris hadn't had good aim, and the ball had ricocheted off his bat and broken the window of the neighbor's house, and that had been the end of baseball.

"I'm not worried about Uncle Jason knowing, I'm worried about who he will tell," Wyatt explained. "Dad. And Dad will tell the Elders, and they'll…" He paused, he knew he had Chris' full attention now. "They'll take me away from you. Don't you see that? They'll separate us because they won't want me to be around you. They'll think I'm a bad influence."

Chris swallowed his own apprehension. "They won't do that," he said, but even he didn't believe his own words.

"They separated Mom and Dad, and Dad didn't even do anything wrong. They wanted him as a white-lighter, and they didn't want to share him with Mom. They didn't want him to stay on Earth."

"He could have fought harder," Chris growled. His issues with Leo all centered around his devotion to the Elders, and although he knew it was entirely his father's fault, he was still loathe to completely blame the Elders for it. Leo hadn't done anything to fight back, and it hurt to know that the white-lighter could walk away from his family so easily.

"You're right, Chris," Wyatt agreed. "He could have fought back, and he didn't. But I _am_ fighting them. I don't want to leave you. Don't you understand?"

Chris nodded reluctantly. "Yes," he said softly. "What do you want me to do?"

Wyatt sighed. "Uncle Jason doesn't have proof, he just has a list with my name on it," he said slowly. "Chris, Uncle Jason is going to ask you what you remember about that night. It's a long time ago, a whole year, so he won't expect you to remember anything. But you can cast a memory retrieval spell so that you can both watch the memory."

"And the memory isn't going to help you, Wy," Chris pointed out dryly. "I don't even remember what that night was. Were you supposed to have dinner with me and Grandpa? Or did we all eat with Uncle Jason?"

Wyatt answered quickly, "You and I were supposed to eat with Grandpa." He remembered that night all too clearly. "Chris, Listen. I can plant a false memory in your mind. I can write a spell to do that, and when you try to retrieve that memory, it will bring back the false one. Can you do that for me?"

Chris hesitated, unsure. "You want me to lie to Uncle Jason?"

"I want you to keep this family together," Wyatt countered. He was desperate now, and his voice was filled with pleasing. He was talking quickly, his words rushed together as he tried to get Chris to see his point of view. "We can pretend someone is setting me up, Chris. A demon or something. After all, someone had to send that sign-in sheet to Uncle Jason. The Elders will believe it if you give them a memory. Please?"

The room was silent. Chris stood, his arms crossed over his chest, staring hard at Wyatt. His green eyes betrayed no emotion, and Wyatt couldn't tell what he was thinking. The moments dragged on, and then Chris spoke again, but it wasn't what Wyatt had been expecting.

"Are you sorry?"

"What?" Wyatt demanded, surprised and dismayed. But then he realized what Chris was asking, and he frowned. He had to options. He could lie, and tell Chris that of course he was sorry and he never wanted any of this to happen. Or he could tell the truth, and risk Chris refusing his help.

He bit his lip thoughtfully, then made a decision. He didn't want to lie to Chris. Anyone else, and he wouldn't mind, but Chris…

"No," Wyatt said firmly. Chris started, and then his eyes narrowed into a glare, but Wyatt kept talking. "I didn't mean to kill Pratt, that was an accident. A mistake. But Pratt was going to kill you, kill all of us. And I don't think we could have stopped him any other way. I guess I wish it could have worked out differently, but in the end, I'm not sorry. If I have to chose between his life and yours, Chris… I chose you."

Chris stared at Wyatt, digesting his words. Then, ever so slowly, he nodded. "I'll help you," he said.

There's a fine line between Good and Evil, between friend and ally, between protecting oneself and one's power. These lines, thin and precise, twist back and forth across life, separating people and places and actions into different categories, drawing boundaries, creating groups.

Categories move, constantly shifting from one moment to the next, delineating new thoughts and ideals. Right and wrong are subjective terms that morph and change as the world turns and life progresses.

But one category stretches across all the others, one category remains untouched by the superficial titles we place on everything else.

Family.

Nothing every changes that.

* * *

Next Chapter: How to Save a Life

Due: Fri 3/9 (yes, I know it is two weeks away, this is going to be slow going for a bit)


	6. How to Save a Life

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This takes place a year after the last chapter, a few weeks after Chris' birthday. _Italics_ are flashbacks. The lyrics are from _How to Save a Life_ by the Fray.

* * *

Piper and Leo's sons:

Wyatt-21

Chris-19

Phoebe and Jason's daughter

Prue-14

Paige and Richard's children:

Ria-13

Adam-10

* * *

Chapter Six: How to Save a Life

"He's out of control, Leo. Something needs to be done."

Leo grimaced and leaned back against the white marble seat, eyeing the other Elders. The meeting had dragged on for hours as they spoke of different demonic threats and magical events that needed to be investigated. But the conversation had finally drifted away from those every day matters and focused on something else, something much more difficult for Leo to stomach.

Wyatt Halliwell's growing darkness.

He'd spoken to his son a number of times over the past several months, but Wyatt refused to listen to reason. The Elders were growing impatient, they were worried, and Leo's continued failed attempts only served to exacerbate that fear.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Leo asked. He doubted even the Elders knew what to do in a situation like this. Wyatt wasn't a demon, they couldn't just vanquish him. He hadn't really done anything blatantly evil. He'd used magic for personal gain, made a few deals with demons, lost control of his temper on several occasions, but as far as they knew, he hadn't become pure evil.

"We never did discover who was trying to frame him for Pratt's death…" one of the Elders said, his tone revealing his suspicions.

"My son would never kill someone in cold blood," Leo responded instantly, jumping to his son's defense. Despite the revelation of Chris' memory, that Wyatt was at home when Pratt was killed, a few of the Elders seemed to believe that perhaps Wyatt had engineered his alibi. Leo, for his part, did not want to consider the possibility that his son had killed a human and lied about it.

But he'd seen the change in his son, witnessed the numerous times that Wyatt had disregarded his advice and broken the rules, and he couldn't quite quench the tiny bit of fear that welled up in his stomach, twisting and turning at the mention of Nathaniel Pratt.

"He is not suggesting that your son is evil, Leo," another Elder said quickly, soothingly. "But you have to admit that he is out of control. We need to do something."

_**Step one, you say we need to talk  
He walks, you say sit down it's just a talk  
He smiles politely back at you  
You stare politely right on through**_

_**Some sort of window to your right  
As he goes left and you stay right   
Between the lines of fear and blame  
And you begin to wonder why you came**_

Leo orbed into the attic of the Manor and looked around. He'd sensed Wyatt here, in the kitchen. Chris was out of the house, and so was Victor, both of which Leo was grateful for. It would make this conversation easier if he didn't have to do it front of an audience.

He walked slowly down the stairs. He knew Wyatt would have already sensed his presence, and was slightly surprised that the Twice Blessed had not orbed away already. His eldest son had been avoiding him quite a lot lately, and it was rare that he managed to fit in two words before all that was left was his son's disappearing orb trail.

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen.

Wyatt was standing there, his back to the door, working on what appeared to be a potion. The air was heavy with the sickly sweet smell of honey and ginger and poppy. Wyatt was holding a bottle in his hand, and Leo recognized it instantly as essence of myrtle. The potion was spitting out sparks and copious amounts of smoke.

"Hello, Dad," Wyatt said, and there was something in his tone that was bitter and mocking. He turned to look at his father, blue eyes narrowed into thin slits of ice. "So nice of you to drop by. You can leave now."

So much for pleasantries.

"Wyatt, we need to talk."

"Actually," Wyatt replied, "I need to finish this potion. I don't have time to talk."

"You don't have time for a lot of things anymore, do you?" Leo said softly, his voice gentle. He took another step forward, almost hesitant, almost unsure.

"I guess the apple never falls that far from the tree, does it?" Wyatt shot back. "After all, you never really had time for that many things either… like your family." He turned his back on Leo and stared at the potion again.

"I came to Chris' last birthday party," Leo protested.

Wyatt gave a snort of derisive laughter. "You weren't wanted there," he replied, still not looking at his father.

It was true, Leo thought silently. He wasn't wanted at the party, and it had only been Adam's enthusiastic greeting that had prompted Chris to allow him to stay.

"_What are you doing here? You aren't welcome in this house," Chris spat as Leo materialized in the attic. He folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, as though daring the other man to contradict his statement._

"_Chris, I told you this was going to be a family party…" Jason cut in, glancing worriedly at Chris. He had informed Leo of the party they had planned for Chris' birthday, and Leo had immediately agreed to come. Of course, he had made that promise a lot in the past, and had rarely managed to keep it, but Jason had still been optimistic._

"_He's not family," Chris replied, waving a hand at Leo._

"_Chris…" Leo started, but Chris just shook his head._

"_No! You can't just orb in here after years of never being there for us and expect to be family," Chris countered. He had still not forgiven Leo for not interceding to save him from Anya Lakin. The social worker had almost ripped the family apart, and Leo had done nothing._

_Whatever Leo was about to reply, it was cut off by the sudden joyous shout, "Uncle Leo!" Adam, who had just appeared at the top of the stairs, spotted his uncle, and ran frantically towards him, hugging his legs tightly._

_Leo smiled and reached down to lift up his nine-year-old nephew. "Hey, buddy," Leo grinned._

"_Are you staying for the party?" Adam asked excitedly. He was too young to understand that the tension in the room was due to Leo's presence. As far as he was considered, it was wonderful that his uncle, who he rarely saw, was here now. It never occurred to him that anyone else would be upset about it_

_Leo hesitated, slanting a look at Chris. He wasn't entirely sure how his younger son would react to Adam's question._

_But Chris looked at the brightness in Adam's eyes and the wide grin on his face, and relented. "Yes," he conceded, slightly ungracefully. "He's staying."_

_Adam was ecstatic, but Chris just shrugged and turned away, ignoring his father. _

"Chris didn't want you there, and you know that," Wyatt continued, pulling the Elder from his memories.

"And you're very concerned with what is best for Chris?" Leo asked skeptically. He knew he was walking on a fine line, Wyatt's temper was bound to erupt if he pushed the subject too much further. They all knew how protective Wyatt was of Chris, how he strove to show that he really was there for his brother, and Leo knew that questioning that would elicit an angry retort.

But he wanted that anger. He wanted his son to show some sort of emotion besides the gloating indifference. It was the only way he'd be able to get through the hard exterior.

"More than you are," Wyatt shot back.

"Is that why you orb into the Underworld every night?" Leo asked angrily. "Why you constantly vanquish demons? Is that why you let your temper get the better of you?"

"Spare me your platitudes, Leo," Wyatt hissed, glancing down at the potion. "I'm keeping us safe."

"Do you really think that?" Leo asked with a bitter laugh. "Sooner or late, all those vanquishes are going to come back to haunt you. Someone is going to come looking for revenge, and knowing they can't hurt you, they'll go after an easier target. Jason, or Adam, Ria, and Prue… or Chris."

"I'll stop them before they hurt anyone," Wyatt said firmly, raising his gaze to his father. Two sets of blue eyes met each other, neither backing down or looking away.

"How can you be sure?" Leo pressed. "Why would you even risk it? Unless, of course, this isn't for your family's benefit. Unless you are simply trying to express your own rage, and protecting your brother is just an excuse."

"How dare you…?" Wyatt snarled, fury leaping into his eyes. "You left us, you walked away, and you dare come back here and judge me?" Around him, the few plates and bowls still left on the counter and table began to rattle dangerously, and the glass in the windows creaked.

"I didn't leave, Wy. After all, I'm still here, aren't I?" Leo replied reasonably.

"You're too late," Wyatt replied coldly.

The sound of the front door of the Manor opening caused both Wyatt and Leo to turn and look over their shoulders. Laughter filled the air, and it sounded so out of place, that it took Leo a moment to even recognize it. Then Prue and Ria appeared, followed by Adam and Jason, and the entire group stopped and stared at Wyatt and Leo, surprised and wary.

Over the heads of the children, Leo and Jason met gazes, and Jason gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Come on, guys, let's go up to the attic," Jason suggested, taking Adam's hand and drawing him away from the arguing father and son. Ria followed, and for a moment, it looked as though Prue was going to protest. But then she saw the warning look in her father's gaze, and she too followed silently, her only protest a lingering stare at Wyatt.

The four of them trudged up the stairs, then Jason gestured for Ria and Adam to go ahead of him. He lingered, catching Prue's arm.

"Keep them up here," he instructed, and Prue nodded. It never occurred to her that fourteen-year-olds should not be responsible for the safety of their younger cousins. People grew up quickly in this family.

Jason walked back down the stairs, pausing on the first floor. Both Leo and Wyatt would be able to sense his presence, so he couldn't really hide, but he decided to stay out of sight all the same.

"If you don't control your temper, Wyatt, it will control you. And you'll end up putting Chris and everyone else in this family at greater risk."

Leo's voice reverberated against the walls and floated towards him. Jason shook his head and sighed. He never quite saw eye-to-eye with Leo on pretty much everything, but he had to respect the man for his unwavering belief that he could save his family. Although he hated to admit it, he had all but given up on his oldest nephew.

"I'm in control," came Wyatt's reply, haughty as usual. "I will keep this family safe. I will make sure that Chris is never hurt again. That none of us are."

"You can't protect Chris from everything," Leo's voice rose with frustration, but he refused to give up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Wyatt hissed.

There was a pause, and Jason leaned forward slightly, wanting to know what Leo was going to say. He tried to imagine the look on the older man's face. Was he scared? Upset? Resigned? Angry?

"Life has pain in it, Wyatt. You can't make it all go away. That's just not possible."

Resignation, Jason decided. That was the expression on Leo's face. He could hear it in the words, in his tone. He knew abruptly that Leo was thinking of Piper, and he closed his eyes.

"Maybe you've just never tried," Wyatt countered. "I don't see why everyone in this family has to die."

The words were hard to argue with. Hadn't fate taken enough already? Wasn't Wyatt right, shouldn't they have a break from this endless cycle of grief? Piper, Paige and Phoebe, Richard… who was next?

Leo, as though he had heard Jason's silent thoughts, answered the question. "Your Grandpa is dying, Wyatt."

That was true, Jason thought. Victor _was_ the next one on the list. He felt it in his bones, like a strange premonition, and he wondered whether or not a mortal who lived with powerful witches for so long wouldn't start to develop some sixth sense of his own.

"He might not act like it, might refuse to acknowledge it, but Victor is going to die soon," Leo continued, his words harsh and unrelenting. "Even Chris knows it. And it's not fair and it is painful, but it's also life. You can't change it, and Chris is going to need you so much when that happens. How will you be there for him if you're off hunting down demons in the Underworld?" The words were cold and callous, but they were true.

Jason walked around the corner and stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He wanted to see how Wyatt was reacting to the statement, wanted to see if Leo was getting through to his son.

Wyatt looked up at him, cold blue eyes filled with pent-up rage. He had finished making the potion and poured it into two small vials. Holding both in his hands, he gave his father one last contemptible look, then said sardonically, "You'll forgive me is I don't take advice from a man who abandoned his family the minutes things got difficult," and orbed away in a flurry of blue and white lights.

"He's not listening to you, Leo," Jason said softly. "You can't get through to him."

Leo glared at the mortal. "He's my son," he said angrily, but deep inside he couldn't help but wonder if Jason wasn't right.

_**Let him know that you know best  
Cause after all you do know best  
Try to slip past his defense  
Without granting innocence **_

_**Lay down a list of what is wrong  
The things you've told him all along   
And pray to God he hears you  
And pray to God he hears you**_

In the attic, Adam sensed that Wyatt had left the Manor, and pouted. "Wy's gone," he informed Prue, and Ria nodded to confirm the statement. "Why didn't he stay to play with us?" Adam continued forlornly.

Ria and Prue exchanged a troubled glance, unsure of what to say. Both of them knew exactly why Wyatt wouldn't want to stay around, but neither felt that inclined to inform the ten-year-old witch-lighter that his oldest cousin was rapidly turning into something different and darker.

Adam played with a bit of melted wax he'd scraped from one of the candles sitting on the table in the center of the room. He didn't notice the way Prue and Ria ignored his question.

"I miss him, and Chris," Adam murmured. "They're not 'round no more."

They weren't. Prue didn't know what to say, and Ria just gave a little shrug.

"Uncle Leo and Uncle Jason are upset by it," Adam added, more to himself than to anyone else. "Because of the time he disappeared."

Ria froze, her eyes wildly spinning towards Prue. Prue held her breath for a moment, then asked in a soft voice, "What time was this?"

If Adam noticed anything strange about his cousin, he didn't comment on it. He just gave a smile and answered the question, "I heard Uncle Jason talking about it once a long time ago. He was saying how Wyatt had gone missing once, as a baby. 'Round the time when Chris was borned. Aunty Piper and Uncle Leo were all frantic. He was gone for a couple weeks, but they found him again."

"Who was Uncle Leo telling this to?" Ria asked in a would-be causal voice.

"Um… Mommy," Adam said at last, and Ria drew in a sharp breath at the mention of Paige.

Prue stepped closer to Ria and whispered, "That was at least four years ago, then. How could he remember it? He probably just dreamt the entire conversation."

Ria nodded, but didn't look convinced.

At that moment, the door swung open, and Jason and Leo entered the attic. Both looked upset about something, but tried to force cheerful smiles to their faces. Adam squealed in delight and hugged Leo around the legs. He had seen Leo twice in the past few weeks, and this was quite unusual, so he was more than a little excited. He was still too young to realize that if Leo showed up frequently, it meant that something was wrong.

"You guys can come downstairs now," Leo said, ruffling Adam's hair.

Ria pulled Adam away from Leo and lead his downstairs, Prue and Jason following, Leo bringing up the rear. But before Leo could leave the attic, the sounds of chimes caught his attention, and he turned in time to see the bright white or orbs coalesce into an Elder.

He glanced over his shoulder at Jason, who had stopped on the stairs. "I'll be down in a moment," he murmured, and Jason nodded apprehensively.

Once the others were gone, the Elder stepped forward. "Leo," he said softly, placing his hand on the white-lighter's shoulder. "I am so sorry."

"For what?" Leo asked suspiciously.

"The Elders were watching your conversation with your son," the strange Elder replied. "It did not go so well, and they… we… wish to take matters into our own hands."

"How?" Leo asked, dread filling his stomach.

"We want to bind his powers," the Elder replied, and Leo shook his head in disbelief. "It is the only way," the man continued. "Sure you understand that this is for the best?"

"How can it be for the best?" Leo demanded. "Taking away his powers? That's taking away his heritage, who he is. His very identity." He wanted his son to be safe, but at what cost? Could he really condemn his son to a life as a mortal? It went against the very nature of Wyatt's being.

"It is taking away the very nature of the problem," the Elder answered. "Without his powers, he can't lose control. We can keep him Up There long enough to see if it is possible to reach him, to pull him back from this darkness."

"I don't like it," Leo objected, but he couldn't bring himself to reject the idea completely. After all, if it saved his son, wouldn't that be worth it? "It's not what Piper would have wanted," he added, but thought to himself that if Piper was here, she would have found a way to reach Wyatt before all this started. She would have kept him sane.

"Piper wouldn't want him to lose his soul," the Elder countered. "Which is exactly what will happen if he continues on this path."

Leo closed his eyes. "Do I have a choice?" he asked. The Elders could do this, with or without his permission, and he wouldn't put it past them to ignore his wishes in favor of their own ideas. They'd done it before.

"Of course," the Elder replied, but his words were a lie, and Leo could hear that in his tone.

Leo ran a hand through his hair and drew a shaky breath. "When do you want to do this?" he asked.

The Elder offered him a supportive smile. "Tomorrow…"**_  
_**

_**As he begins to raise his voice  
You lower yours and grant him one last choice  
Drive until you lose the road  
Or break with the ones you've followed **_

_**He will do one of two things  
He will admit to everything  
Or he'll say he's just not the same  
And you'll begin to wonder why you came**_

Life changes when you least expect it.

The big moments, the ones you plan for, weddings and birthdays and graduations, they're not so important. Nothing really changes. Even if you didn't celebrate that birthday, you'd still be a year older than you were at your last birthday. Even if you didn't plan that weddings, you'd still be in love… well, hopefully. Even if you didn't go to your graduation, you'd still graduate.

I should know, I skipped by high school graduation and that didn't stop me from going to college.

The big celebrations are ways we mark changes, but they aren't the changes themselves.

Those changes, the moments when things become something else, when the world tilts and you see everything through a different light, those split-seconds that really matter, they come when you're looking the other way.

They came to Chris when he walked unsuspectingly into the kitchen and saw his mother's dying body, when his grandfather sat him down and told him that his two aunts were dead, when Daryl showed up at the door and informed them that Richard's dead body had been found, when Anya Lakin walked into the room right after Wyatt had vanquished the demons, when Wyatt told him the truth about what had happened to Nathaniel Pratt.

And, in a few moments, another change would come, striking him unexpectedly where he stood in the aisle of the grocery store, picking out apples and oranges and bananas.

For Wyatt, the moments came when Chris called for him and he orbed into the room to see his mother's dead body, when Prue called for him and he orbed into the room to see his aunts' dead bodies, when Anya Lakin threatened to take Chris away, when Pratt threatened to have Ria and the rest of the family burned at the stake.

And one more change came now, as the white lights engulfed his body and his presence was summoned elsewhere.

He had only a glimpse of white fog and mist, of a group of Elders surrounding him, chanting, then his father stepped into his vision, dropping a crystal from his hand. It rolled into place, completing the magical cage that suddenly sprung up around him, and Wyatt knew too late that he'd been trapped.

"Hello, son," Leo said grimly.

After the Elders had informed him of their plan, Leo had agreed to it only on the condition that he was there as well. He didn't want to leave his son alone with strangers, even though he knew it was unlikely that Wyatt would ever forgive him for this.

The crystals had been blessed by the Elders, by potions, by the Leprechauns, and by a few other witches that Leo had recruited to help him.

The cage they created could not be broken.

Wyatt looked at the cage for a moment, and raised an eyebrow. "Impressive," he drawled with a smirk. "Didn't think you had it in you, Dad." His words were bitter and icy, and Leo couldn't help but shrink back from the accusation.

What had happened to his son? What had happened to that little toddler with the golden curls, blue eyes, and bright smile?

"I think it is time we have another little talk," Leo said, squaring his shoulders and staring back at his son.

"Why?" Wyatt spat, shaking his head. "So you can try to fill my mind with your white-lighter pacifist crap? Sorry, Dad, but I'm passed all that." A murmur ran through the Elders present, and Wyatt paused long enough to look around at all of them. Then he continued, "I'm keeping my family safe, and that's more than you or any of your Elder buddies did for us."

"You're putting them in danger," Leo countered. "You're losing sight of who you are, who this family is."

"God, you are so full of it," Wyatt snapped, rolling his eyes. "And thanks for your advice, Dad, but I don't really need it anymore."

"You need my advice now more than ever," Leo countered. "You're out of control."

Wyatt reached out and touched the bars of the cage. The electricity flooded into his skin, burning his fingers, but he kept holding onto it. Despite his ability to withstand the pain, however, he was unable to break through the magic of the cage. He gritted his teeth in frustration and growled, "Nice job with the crystals."

Leo shook his head, suddenly feeling tired and old. "What happened to you, Wyatt?" he asked softly.

Wyatt rolled his eyes contemptuously. "Nothing happened to me, Dad." He glanced at the Elders. "Now, I don't really want to stay and chat, I'm pretty busy at the moment. So, if you don't mind removing the crystals, I'll be on my way…"

The sudden rush of whispers filled the room as the Elders leaned together, talking hurriedly and with a sense of urgency. The white mist seemed to condense and darken, and Wyatt shivered, abruptly cold. He knew, even before anyone said it, what they were planning on doing, and he almost laughed at their naiveté.

Did they actually think they had the power to stop him? The Twice Blessed?

"You're not going anywhere," one of the Elders spoke up.

Wyatt fixed him with a piercing gaze. "Why not? Because you said so?" he mocked. "Do you really think you have the power to control me?"

"Is that all that matters to you, Wyatt Halliwell?" the Elder shot back, shaking his head sadly. "Power and control?"

Wyatt's eyes narrowed. "That's it," he answered. "What else is there?"

"Right and wrong, Wyatt," Leo answered.

Wyatt shifted his eyes back to his father. "Oh, really?" he sneered. "Pity, but I don't think I agree with you on that one. So… as we've seemed to reach a stalemate, what are you going to do now?" His lips twisted into a cruel smirk. "Torture me until I agree to your pathetic ideas of Good and Evil?"

"No one is going to hurt you…" Another Elder said pompously, stepping forward, but Leo cut him off.

"If I have to," he said quietly, and all eyes turned to him in disbelief. Leo was a quiet, rather passive white-lighter. He was not known for being violent or having a backbone, but his eyes were flashing with a deathly cold light and his tone was filled with determination.

It was quite a turn about from the previous day when Leo didn't want his son's powers to be bound. But during the night Leo had realized that there might not be another way.

"You don't have the guts," Wyatt countered.

Leo shrugged. "I'll do whatever is necessary to protect you from yourself." And from the other Elders, he though silently. There was no doubt in his mind that, if they saw no other options, the Elders would kill Wyatt. If he truly became such a threat to the side of Good that they could not stop him, they would have to treat him like a demon.

He wouldn't let that happen.

"Why do you even care, Dad?" Wyatt demanded, looking slightly surprised and unnerved by the calm expression in his father's eyes. "You're a sorry excuse for a father who never did anything for this entire family!"

Leo flushed and said almost hopefully, "You don't really mean that."

"Yes," Wyatt laughed bitterly, "I do actually."

Leo didn't say anything for a moment. He just stared at Wyatt for a long time, his gaze piercing but unreadable. Wyatt began to shift nervously, eyeing his father in apprehension.

Finally, Leo spoke.

"One way or another, Wyatt, I promise I will save you."

"Touching," Wyatt sneered. But then his eyes widened as he felt a pull in his stomach. His powers were twisting and turning, drifting away from him, but this time it was being done with much more force. He turned around and stared at the other Elders. They were finally putting their plan into motion, they were trying to take his powers.

He closed his eyes and focused on his powers, latching onto them with as much strength and determination as possible.

The air crackled with electricity. It hummed with power and energy as the Elders and Wyatt waged a furious internal battle. Wyatt felt as though his entire body was being pulled apart and the magic was being slowly dragged out of every molecule. At times, he could barely breathe, his vision blurred in front of his eyes, and his forehead was soon covered in drops of sweat.

But by the looks of it, the Elders were fairing no better. They were struggling as well, and at that point, it was anyone's guess who would win.

Wyatt fixed his appalled gaze on his father. "I'm… your… _son_," he gasped out.

Leo stared at him impassively and didn't answer. But beneath his cool façade, his entire world was slowly crumbling as he watched the betrayal and hatred flash through his son's icy blue eyes. He had no doubt that it would be a very long time, if ever, before Wyatt forgave him for this. Chris probably also wouldn't understand, and would see this as just one more example of Leo choosing the Elders over his own family. But Leo consoled himself that what he was doing was for the best.

One of the Elder detached himself from the group and walked over to Leo. Wyatt had fallen to his knees in the center of the cage, and he had his hands pressed out in front of him, his fingers splayed against the white marble ground. The Elder looked at Wyatt for a moment, dismay and fear in his eyes, then turned to Leo and said, "Perhaps it would be best if you left until this was over, Leo."

"I can't… I can't leave him," Leo mumbled, shaking his head and glancing over at the huddle of Elders. How much longer would this take? Couldn't they see that Wyatt was in pain?

"It is for the Greater Good," the Elder replied softly, trying to console his hurting friend.

At those words, Wyatt looked up, hatred and fury etched onto the lines of his face. The air was suddenly hot, so hot it was hard to breathe, and the bars of the cage hummed and strained against the crystals that held them in place. Wyatt's eyes flashed a dark indigo and his face grew pale white. The aura around him darkened as power seemed to flow through his veins.

He stood slowly, determinedly, and the others in the room shrunk back in fear. Reaching out, he placed both hands in front of him and pressed against the cage. His fingers tightened around the bars, his knuckles turning white. Electricity danced along his hands, seeping from the cage into his skin, but he showed no sign of pain. The only emotion on his face was pure rage.

The cage suddenly shattered, and the ground shook with the force of the blow. Leo fell to the ground, and several of the Elders orbed away.

Wyatt stared at the Elder who had spoken to his father, the one who had uttered the hated words: Greater Good. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarled, his face filled with pain and some other unidentifiable emotion. He stretched out his hand and Excalibur appeared in midair, the deadly blade glowing slightly in the misty white light of Up There.

"Wyatt…" Leo tried to pull himself to his feet but the ground was still shaking all around him. He stumbled up onto his knees and held out a hand, weakly trying to stop his son from doing anything rash.

"There is _no_ Greater Good!" Wyatt screamed, blinded by frenzy. Consumed in his anger, he swung the sword once and with deadly accuracy.

Leo turned to look at his friend and mentor, horrified as the Elder keeled over, blooding seeping out onto his chest. "_No, Gideon!_" Leo cried, knowing it was already too late. The Elder was dead. He swung around to look at Wyatt, and his son stared down at him coldly.

It was then that Leo realized all the other Elders had orbed away, and he was alone in the room.

"Wyatt, what have you done?"

"All my life you've tried to turn me into something I'm not," Wyatt said, his voice glacial. "You've tried to stunt my power and take away my destiny." He waved his hand and Excalibur disappeared. "But this is who I am, Leo, and you can't fight that. This is _my_ destiny."

He orbed away in a swirl of black and blue orbs, and Leo stared at the dark lights in dismay and despair.

Changes come when you aren't prepared for them.

A few miles away, in the aisle of the supermarket, Victor Bennett felt a sharp pain in the left side of his chest, his breath catching in his throat as the pain migrated down his left arm, and the world spun in circles, fading around him. The last thing he heard was Chris' frantic cry, "Grandpa!" before his head hit the floor and the darkness consumed him.

The trip the hospital was pointless, and the diagnosis simple. Cardiovascular heart disease, exacerbated by lung cancer from smoking and high blood pressure. A heart attack. The doctor offered his condolences, but Chris didn't respond, just rested his head on his grandfather's still chest, listening for a heartbeat that was no longer there.

**_  
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness   
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life_**

* * *

****

Next Chapter: In the Face of Power

Due: Wed 3/21


	7. In the Face of Power

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter takes place a year after the last one. It is the last of the "lead-in" chapters, and after this everything goes to hell, so the remaining chapters will be a lot closer together on the timeline. They'll still be mostly one-shot format, however, and may be written in a wide variety of styles.

For anyone who has read _The Lost Future_, the Seer in this story is _not_ the same Seer as in that one. This is the Seer that showed up in Season Seven, the one the sisters were going to make human. If she continues to show up in my story, I'll probably start referring to her by name, and not just as the Seer, so that things don't get too confusing.

As always, please read and review.

* * *

Piper and Leo's sons: 

Wyatt-22

Chris-20

Phoebe and Jason's daughter

Prue-15

Paige and Richard's children:

Ria-14

Adam-11

* * *

Chapter Seven: In the Face of Power

Chris stared at the lines of gravestones that spread out across the cemetery. So many people had died, and their bodies were buried here, thin slabs of stone marking the remains. His own family had an entire row to themselves, reminders of everything that the battle against Evil had cost them.

Prudence Halliwell was the first. Aunt Prue. Chris had never met her, and knew he probably never would. That loss didn't hurt as much as the others because he had never known the woman, and though she might be family, she'd died before he was born, and he'd never grieved for her.

She was followed by Piper Halliwell, and Chris could barely bring himself to look at her grave. He licked dry lips and averted his eyes, not wanting to see the name etched into that stone, not wanting to remember her broken body.

Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige were next, both killed at the same time, both killed by the same demons. Then Uncle Richard, killed as much by real demons as by his own inner ones. Then Victor Bennett, the only one here not killed by magic, but magic couldn't save him, and Chris was starting to think that it all amounted to the same thing.

And then…

They'd put up a grave for him, even though no one really knew if he was dead or not. At least, they hadn't found his body, but it had been a year, and wouldn't he have come back if he was still alive? They'd held onto hope for the first few months, claiming that he'd just blocked his signal from everyone, and he would be back, but as the year progressed and the seasons changed, even Chris had to admit that it didn't look good.

Chris reached out and brushed his fingertips lightly against the dappled gray stone. It was cold. He was cold.

_Wyatt Halliwell… beloved son and brother…may he rest in peace…_

He stepped back and wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. Swallowing back the urge to scream out in frustration at everything they'd lost, he orbed away, a flurry of white and blue.

* * *

Red Light, Green Light. 

It was a game they used to play as children. They'd all standing in a line, and one person, who was considered _it_, would stand in front of them and turn around. He'd call out "Green light," and everyone would run towards him. But when he spun around and said, "Red light," they'd have to freeze in place. If they didn't, they had to go back to the starting line. If he said, "Yellow light," then they all had to slow down, but they could keep walking. Just no running.

The first person to reach the person won the game.

Green light…

He stared at the demons in front of him, angry and defiant. The cave was filled with demons, ones who didn't like this new order, this new leader. They'd gathered to stop him, defeat him, if that was at all possible. He knew he was outnumber, twenty to one, but that odds didn't seem to bother him.

They advanced, hissing and growling, conjuring fireballs and energy balls and dark-lighter arrows. Athames and potions. They were closing in, a tight circle around him, triumph gleaming in their eyes.

Yellow light…

He conjured his sword and stared at them coldly. He wasn't afraid. He'd seen the truth, understood how this world really worked, and he wasn't afraid of anything any more. Let them come, he was ready.

They seemed to hesitate, each waiting for the other to attack. They thought they would win, but at the same time, they did not want to be the first to attack. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes glowing with laughter.

Let them come.

Red light…

A fire ball flew through the air. He didn't see who had thrown it, didn't really care. He caught it easily in his hand, quenching the fire as he closed his fist. The great sword flashed forward suddenly, and he vanquished two demons without even batting an eye. Another came, and another, and another. He dodged each and every attack, countering with his own powers, and soon the room was filled with nothing more than piles of ash.

None of the demons had reached him.

In the game, if no one from the line reached the person who was _it_ before the time was up, the that person won.

Wyatt Halliwell looked at the charred remains of the demons and smiled.

He'd won yet another round of the game.

* * *

The Seer stared at her pool, a thoughtful expression gracing her features. She pushed dark hair out of her eyes and waved her hands over the water, letting the image swirl around for a moment. Then she turned away, releasing the magic, and the water melted into a deep black. 

"What did you see?"

The Seer smiled at the demon who materialized out of the shadows. "Patience, patience," she said with a smirk. "Rushing into something will only ruin everything."

"I've been patient for twenty years," the demon replied, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he waved his hand through the air, as though sensing something through his fingers.

The Seer pouted her lips. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that it isn't nice to invade people's privacy?" she asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

The demon gave a dark chuckle. "I must have missed that lesson," he replied. "And you have very… _interesting_… fears."

The Seer sighed, but didn't reply to the comment. "The Elders believe that their precious Twice Blessed is dead," she said softly. "They have not sensed his growing powers, nor are they aware that he is attempting to take over the Underworld."

"And his family?" the demon pressed, eyes glinting in anticipation.

"They've given up hope as well." The Seer stepped away from her pool, and the demon watched her carefully. "They'll be caught unawares."

The demon accepted this silently, nodding his head slowly. He had waited a very long time for his revenge, and soon it would be within his grasp. "And you are positive that Wyatt will come if they are in danger?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. Wyatt may be trying to hide from the world, but his family was still his family, and if anything happened to them… especially his brother… Wyatt would be there to stop it.

"Of course," the Seer answered. Her voice had an odd inflection to it, a slight tilt that made her sound almost hesitant.

"You're reluctant to help me," the demon remarked, eyes narrowed. "You don't like the plan."

The Seer shrugged. "You want to expose all magic. I can't help but wonder about the repercussions it will have… for all of us." She slanted a look at the demon. "Even you."

"I want revenge on the Halliwells. I don't really care about anything else," the demon snarled, glowering. He shimmered away in a ripple of air, and the cave was silent.

"I know," the Seer murmured. "That's what I am afraid of." Her words echoed in the silence, and she knew it was too late to stop what would happen. Some things were simply meant to be, and perhaps this was one of them.

* * *

"It's the kidnapping all over again, only this time he's really gone," Leo muttered under his breath, staring at the city that stretched out below him. The sun shone down on him, burning his skin and causing small beads of sweat to appear on his head and shoulders. He wiped away the sweat with one hand, blinking his eyes. 

"Leo, I know that this is hard for you," Rhiana said gently, reaching out a hand and placing it on the white-lighter's shoulder. "To have a child taken away from you like this. But the others need you. You can't fall apart now."

"Chris…" Leo nodded reluctantly. It didn't feel like Chris still needed him. His youngest son despised him, and he was never really sure how to put the pieces of that broken relationship back together. Too many regrets lay between them to make it alright again.

A sudden unease passed through him, a strange whispy feeling that tugged at his senses. He closed his eyes, trying to locate the problem, but it slipped away.

"Leo?" The Elder frowned at her companion. "What is it?"

Leo opened his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Just a feeling." Like a premonition, but he didn't say that out loud. He didn't have that sort of power, and the Elders would only dismiss it as paranoia. But he somehow knew that something was about to happen.

And it did.

"_Uncle Leo, Chris!"_

He heard the cry for help and was already orbing away before he'd even recognized who and where exactly it was coming from.

* * *

They appeared, ten or twelve of them, shimmering into the Manor's attic so quickly that Prue barely had time to register their presence before they were already throwing fireballs at her and she was already diving out of the way. 

More appeared. Twenty, maybe? Since when did demons work in groups like this.

"Uncle Leo, Chris!" she screamed. She needed to get out of there, she couldn't fight them all. A fireball grazed her shoulder and she let out of hiss of pain as the skin burned. She flung out one hand, attempting to conjure enough wind to push them away, but only succeeded in creating a momentary tornado that flickered and faded. She'd never been good at conjuring wind, no matter how hard she'd tried, and Leo had told her once that sometimes a person has so much of the other elements in them, that the remaining element just can't really be controlled.

She didn't understand his explanation at the time, but she did know that she'd always been better at conjuring fire, and so she let a burst of flame fly from her fingertips, incinerating the two demons standing directly in front of her.

Maybe Leo was right. Maybe she had so much fire in her, she couldn't control the wind.

But she was still surrounded. "Nowhere to run, little witch," one of the demons laughed mockingly. He smirked with delight, an athame in one hand, and stepped forward.

"Hey! Get away from her!"

Prue turned to see white lights forming into Chris, who swung his arm out in an arc and sent the athame-wielding demon careening into the wall. Adam and Ria appeared a moment later, orbing into the scene. Adam looked scared, but Ria's lips were pressed together in a thin line of determination, and she raised her hands and promptly blew up two of the demons.

There were still so many, and they were still so outnumbered…

Another set of bright orbs filled the room, and Leo appeared directly behind Prue. He took one look at the entire scene and reached out a hand, placing it on her shoulder and preparing to orb her away. He cast a look at Chris, Ria, and Adam, and yelled, "Get out of here," before dissolving in white lights.

Ria and Chris both followed the order, and managed to get away unharmed. But Adam, although he started to orb, was not fast enough to avoid the athame thrown at him, and it struck his orbs. He rematerialized, doubling over in pain and clutching his wounded stomach.

One of the demons laughed and stepped forward, and Adam looked up, his eyes wide with horror, the only thought making its way through his eleven-year-old mind was that he was going to die.

And then another set of orbs appeared, a dark one, blue and black, and they coalesced in the center of the attic, taking the form of the one still living family member that Adam had not seen in a year, that they had all assumed was really dead.

"Enough!" Wyatt bellowed, his voice echoing through the suddenly still room. "Stay away from my family." With these words, he raised his hands and released a blast of energy that passed through Adam, leaving him unharmed, but vanquished every demon it touched. The energy continued outwards, decimating the furniture, smashing the glass of the windows, and splintering the wood of the walls.

Only a few demons managed to escape the blast, shimmering away before they could be demolished.

* * *

The Elders felt it, the sudden rush of intensity, the explosion of energy and magic as someone great and powerful resurfaced, infusing their radar with light and color and force. The twisted tendrils of evil snaked their way through the power, turning the pure white into a mottled gray of ambiguity. It was Charmed and it was tainted and it was unstoppable.

* * *

Leo reached out to heal Prue's burn, but a sharp pain lanced through his stomach, and he knew instantly that one of his family members was injured. Chris and Ria had appeared in the living room of the penthouse, and Jason was still at work, so that left only… 

"Adam!" Ria cried out, clutching her abdomen in pain, tears stinging her eyes as she collapsed to the floor.

Prue yanked away from Leo as she realized that Adam's life was in danger. "You need to get him," she ordered, lifting her eyes to Leo. But she needn't have bothered, because he was already orbing to his young nephew.

* * *

One of the demons shimmered back in and seized Wyatt by the shoulders. The Twice Blessed had been so focused on Adam that he didn't realize that demon was there until he felt the pressure of his hands. The blonde witch turned to fight, but couldn't, because the demon shimmered away, taking Wyatt with him. 

Leo appeared in the room in time to see Wyatt disappear, and sensed his son reappearing on the sidewalk outside the Manor. He couldn't understand how his son was here… alive… he didn't process the fact that Adam was bleeding… nothing made sense, and he was frozen, just standing there, staring at thin air as though it might offer some insight into the mirage he had just seen, the tangled web of confusion and questions and answers and…

Wyatt was…

Alive?

Adam moaned in pain, and Leo bent down next to him, reaching out with his hands and watching as the warm golden glow spread from his fingers and slowly closed the hole the athame had made. Once he was sure that Adam was going to live, he raced to the window and stared out of it at the street below.

And Wyatt stood there, radiating power…

Wyatt stood there, quivering with fury…

Wyatt stood there, _alive_…

The demon was advancing on Wyatt, and although Leo was three stories above, he could tell from the body language that this demon was mocking the Twice Blessed, taunting him.

Leo shook his head. Was this really happening? Was a demon actually mocking Wyatt? Didn't the demon know that he was going to be killed? Or did he really have no idea of what he had just done?

He blinked again, disoriented, trying to decipher what he was seeing as other figures swam into his view and his gaze extended beyond just Wyatt.

And then he froze.

In a moment of complete and total clarity, Leo realized that he had been wrong; the demon knew exactly what he was doing.

The street was filled with reporters, and each and every camera was trained on Wyatt Halliwell.

* * *

"You know," the demon said disdainfully, "you're little cousin didn't even put up a fight. Just doubled over when that athame went into him. It was… well, it was a disappointment. I prefer hearing them scream and beg and fight back… Well, maybe next time, right?" 

"How dare you?" Wyatt snarled, his blue eyes narrowed into thin slits of ice, power coursing through his vein, feeding his emotions.

"Did you really think you could take over the Underworld?" the demon laughed, looking supremely unconcerned by the power Wyatt possessed. "Did you really think we'd follow you blindly, Oh Great One?"

Everything boiled down to that one moment in time. The world around Wyatt ceased to exist, and through the haze of red fury, he narrowed his eyes at the demon. The hot bubbling sensation of rage spread slowly from his stomach, traveling towards his heart and mind. Memories and nightmares passed in front of his eyes, visions of his mother's dead body, of his aunts and uncle, of his grandfather. Of Nathaniel Pratt and Anya Lakin and Gideon. The air around him filled with the sent of burning fire and smoke, of dried blood, of damp caves, of fear and memories he tried not to recall.

Power consumes. It eats away at a person's soul, leaving holes that can never be filled. It is raw and uncontrollable and filled with an insatiable life of its own. It wants more than it can ever be given, wants to break free from the bindings that hold it firmly within us. In small amounts is can be controlled. In small amounts, we can use it.

In large amounts, it uses us.

The green grass of his mother's always perfect lawn turned dry and brittle, the plants lost their luster as the leaves crackled and fell to the ground, the dirt turned into ash and dust. Wyatt was not aware of what he was doing, of the destruction that spread out from him as his wrath and passion shimmered before his eyes in a burst of dancing flames.

Wyatt did not see himself vanquish the demon. He did not hear the howl of rage, he did not see the all-consuming fire that took his opponent's life. He did not see the particles of ash that swept about in the wind, settling over the destroyed and burned out earth. He did not hear the murmurs from the reporters, did not see the shocked looks or the flashes of light as his picture was recorded.

He saw nothing but his own black anger.

* * *

Barbus hung back in the crowd of photographers, watching in silent satisfaction. It'd taken a long time to plan this, to find the demons who would be willing to help, to convince the Seer to look into the future for him. But it had worked out, and he had finally succeeded. 

Twenty years. Twenty years he wanted to seek revenge on the Halliwells. Twenty years he had waited. But his revenge was here now, and he was happy.

It might end magic. Exposure was dangerous, and who knew what would happen. But the Halliwells' greatest fear was to see their family members killed, and to be helpless to stop it, and he had just made that fear come true.

He wondered if they would burn witches at the stake now, or would they just go for the more humane method of a firing squad?

The Demon of Fear turned and shimmered away.

* * *

Three stories above, Leo stared down at his son, at the scorched earth and dead plants, at the buzzing reporters, at the ash still floating on the wind. 

In the face of power, nothing survives.

* * *

Next Chapter: Blanket of Fear 

Due: Sun 4/1


	8. Blanket of Fear

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter takes place two weeks after the last one. I'm not posting ages, so if you want to know how old people are, look at the last chapter.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Blanket of Fear

"This is _not_ happening!"

The witch looked around in desperation as the men closed in on her. They were dressed all in black, and carried their guns out in front of them, fingers resting on the triggers. Her companion, a young man with dark eyes and dark hair, had one arm wrapped around her shoulders in a protective gesture.

"You can say that as much as you want, sweetheart, but this is most _definitely_ happening," the man quipped back.

The witch rolled her eyes and chanced a quick glance towards the street. News cameras were set up along the sidewalk, and reporters eagerly pressed forward, holding out microphones, yelling questions towards the cornered companions. They were held back by other police officers, but the crowd was gathering, pushing forward.

"Damn Halliwells always screw everything up," the witch muttered under her breath.

"And ain't that the truth," the man agreed with a nod. He slanted a look at the younger girl. "You want to ditch this joint, or should we stick around and get ourselves burnt at the stake?"

The witch expelled a sharp breath. "Fine, David," she snapped. "But I'm still opposed to violence against innocents."

David gestured to the advancing police officers and replied, "They're hardly innocents, Lila."

The leading police officer lifted his gun toward and said quickly, "Come now, you don't want to make this a big fight, do you? You're outnumbered. You might as well just turn yourselves in and face the law. No one needs to get hurt." He took a few more steps forward.

"You really don't want to do that," Lila warned, eyeing the man apprehensively.

He sneered at her. "Why not, witch?" he spat, all trace of gentle humor gone. He raised his gun at her menacingly.

Lila flung out her hand, letting loose a burst of energy that slammed into the approaching police officers, throwing them backwards. They tumbled into a heap on the cement. She narrowed her eyes dangerously and repeated in an icy voice, "I told you that you didn't want to do that."

David smiled and took Lila's hand in his. He gave the fallen police officers one last contemptuous look and teleported the two of them away.

* * *

The white-lighters shuffled throughout the room, nodding to each other as they waited for the meeting to start. It was unusual for every white-lighter to be called, and yet here they all were, packed into the white marble room, milling about. Leo watched silently, eyes moving restlessly about, wondering why he had been called. It had been a few weeks since Wyatt's reappearance, and his joy at his son's sudden presence was tempered slightly by the state the world was in right now.

Witch hunts.

He remembered the day that Prue, Piper, and Phoebe had traveled to the future and witnessed these horrible events. He had assumed that they were horrors of an alternate reality. The sisters had avoided exposure many times, but apparently the Halliwell luck had run out.

The Cleaner refused to involve themselves in this mess. Piper had burned that bridge over twenty years ago, after Wyatt had summoned the dragon. There wasn't anything left to do, every spell they tried had failed to change what had happened, and the Elders refused to condone the use of time travel to right this particular wrong. It was too dangerous, they said, and they couldn't allow future witches to believe that every time they screwed up, they could simply go back in time to fix the mistake.

Leo thought to himself that if the witch trials kept up, there wouldn't be any witches left in this future anyway.

Wyatt had gone into hiding almost immediately, taking Chris with him. Leo didn't know where they were, but he knew they were alive and safe.

Prue and Jason had been able to stay safely in San Francisco, only because the investigation conducted by San Francisco Coalition for Community Safety had yielded nothing suspicious. Leo had no idea how Jason had managed to pull that off, but he knew better than to ask. His brother-in-law and niece were safe, and that was really all that mattered.

Ria and Adam had been removed to a safe-house the Elders had set up for targeted witches, a sort of underground railroad that ferreted innocent magical beings through the city in an attempt to keep them from being captured. Leo was supposed to watch them, but had been forced to leave them in order to attend this meeting.

A far door opened and two Elders swept into the room. Leo recognized them at once, and opened his mouth in surprise. Atando and Frida, two of the most senior Elders. If they were here, it meant that the Elders had decided something big.

"Given the state of affairs," Atando began without preamble, "the Elders have decided that it is best if we temporarily confine all white-lighters here." His voice rumbled with authority.

"You want to seal the Heavens?" one of the white-lighters called out, clearly aghast at this new development.

"Until we can find a way to right this particular wrong, we feel that we have no choice," Frida answered, her voice soft, but firm. "Witches and demons have been discovered, it is only a matter of time until they discover the existence of white-lighters and Elders as well. Perhaps this will allow us to delay that discovery until we can find a way to fix this."

"How long will this temporary confinement last?" another white-lighter demanded.

"We don't know," Atando answered.

"We can't just leave our charges," a white-lighter muttered under his breath, and others nodded in agreement. But an air of hopelessness had settled over those in the room because most of the white-lighters realized that Atando and Frida were right, this might be the only way to protect magic.

Leo shook his head and slipped away from the others, opened the door to the meeting room and stepping out into the white fog. A moment later, he heard footsteps and turned to see Frida standing behind him.

"Is there a problem Leo?"

Leo stared back at her. There were so many things he wanted to say to her. Yes, there was a problem. The problem was that he'd sacrificed everything that mattered to him for the Greater Good, and now they wanted to completely separate him from his family as well? The problem was that while they were safe here, witches were dying on Earth. The problem was that he no longer knew whether staying with the Elders was what he should have done after Piper died. He still believed in their cause, and he still believed that many times they were right, and the Halliwell's desires for control and for normal lives were simply petty in the face of great suffering…

But this was his family.

"I have to get back to Ria and Adam," Leo said at last. "They're waiting for me."

"Leo, we said we're closing the Heavens. If you leave now, I don't know how long it will be until you're able to come back."

A few other white-lighters had filed out of the room and were watching the conversation with interest. Leo glanced at them, and then back at Frida. "I heard you," he said. "And I'll take my chances with being trapped on Earth. I'm not leaving them."

Frida opened her mouth to argue, but Leo was already gone, disappearing into blue and white orbs.

* * *

Prue paced back and forth across the living room of the penthouse. Her father was sitting at the kitchen table, working on some bills. Her own homework was scattered about the floor and the sofa, but she couldn't be bothered to focus on any of it.

Jason shot a glance at his daughter and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew this entire mess was taking its toll on Prue. She'd never been separated from her family for such a long time before. They'd had word from Wyatt and Chris occasionally, and once or twice a witch had brought them news of Leo, Ria, and Adam, but they had yet to see their family, and it had been two weeks.

More disturbing to him where the numerous anonymous phone calls and letters he'd received. San Francisco had set up a commission to investigate suspected witches, and he and Prue had barely managed to squeak through it. But people would still call him at all hours of the night, or send letters through the mail, with threatening messages. Not everyone believed that Jason and Prue were magic free, and it was only a matter of time before some vigilante took matters into his own hands.

Prue turned to look at her father, and they're eyes met. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "They're threatening me at school, Dad. The other students. They don't believe me, they think I'm evil."

"Prue, sweatheart…" There wasn't anything Jason could say, and he let the sentence drift. Prue just gave him a wan smile in reply, not knowing what else to do.

* * *

The room was plain and drab. The white walls were not the bright white of well-cleaned stone or the creamy white of recently painted wood, but rather a dull grayish-white. The floor was carpeted in gray, and the table in the center of the room was made of unpolished oak. Everything about the room gave the appearance of being unimposing and inconsequential.

But sitting around the table were some of the most important people in San Francisco.

"Several suspects have evaded our grasp," the man sitting at the far end of the table said coldly. "Why?" He fixed beady black eyes on the woman sitting a few seats further down the table.

She was the only woman in the room, and consequently had the disadvantage of having to deal with several chauvinistic men. Still, she didn't let her gaze waver at all, or her voice shake, as she answered calmly, "They are witches. They have powers that we don't have and can't fight. We're lucky to have caught as many as we did, Chairman."

The Chairman scowled, but nodded. He leaned back in his seat and eyed the others. He was a powerfully built man, tall and imposing. He was the Chairman of the San Francisco Coalition for Community Safety, and he knew that, if he could successfully rid San Francisco of the magical threat, he would have no trouble at all securing his bid for Governor of California.

The other members of the Coalition shifted about in their seats, waiting for him to speak again. They were all powerful people themselves, CEOs, a politician, a few important lawyers and a judge, the Chief of Police. They were all ambitious as well.

"Is there anyway at all to fight their powers?" the Chairman asked at last.

Another man spoke up. "Only if we shoot them on sight," he suggested, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

A different man, one of the partners in a prestigious California law firm, shook his head impatiently. "We have to at least give the semblance of following due process," he objected.

"They're witches!"

"No," the lawyer countered, although he agreed with the other's opinion, "they're _suspected_ witches. And in this country, you are innocent until proven guilty." He glanced at the others in the room. "Public opinion means everything, and if we condone killing suspects, the public will turn against us."

There was too much truth in his words, and no one disagreed.

Then the woman spoke up again. "What if we declared that it was permissible to shoot someone who resisted arrest. That would be a surefire sign that they are indeed a witch…" She glanced around the room. They all knew that anyone who was arrested was eventually convicted, whether they were a witch or not. It was a small price to pay, a few innocent lives in exchange for ridding the city of these monsters. But if they could have a law passed, one that allowed police officers to shoot any suspect who resisted arrest and interrogation, then they could altogether avoid the risk of witches escaping.

The Chairman smiled and nodded. "Very well," he agreed.

* * *

Adam shivered in the cool air as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Glancing over at Ria, he asked softly, "How long until Uncle Leo gets back?"

Ria shook her head. "I don't know," she answered honestly.

They were hiding in the 'safe house' that the Elders had set up, which was really nothing more than the sewers. It was clean, and protected by a web of fairy magic, leprechaun luck, and witch powers. Still, it was dark and damp, and he was young and afraid of what could be lurking in the shadows.

A man walked over to them and smiled down at the two children. He was young, with an unruly mop of dark hair. His eyes were almost black, but friendly, and he gave Adam a smile.

"What's your name, kid?" he asked.

"Adam," Adam replied hesitantly, first looking to Ria to see if it was okay for him to answer the question. Over the past two weeks, they'd learned not to trust anyone, but this safe haven wouldn't have allowed the man to enter if he wasn't on their side. At least, that's what Uncle Leo had assured them.

"I'm David," the other man said, sticking out his hand. His eyes traveled to Ria. "And you are?"

Ria bit her lip. "Patricia," she answered firmly. The man was friendly, but his tone was condescending, the tone you use when addressing children. They might be young, but they were Halliwells, and they'd grown up too quickly to be considered children.

On the other hand, she didn't want to actually tell this man that they were Halliwells. Too many witches still blamed her family for what had happened, for what Wyatt had done. Animosity in this place was running rampant, and even Uncle Leo had some reservations about their safety here.

David smiled at her. "Well, it's nice to meet you both. I'm new to this place, and I was wondering if you might show me around."

"It's a sewer," Ria said coolly, rolling her eyes. "There really isn't much to show."

Instead of being offended by the reply, David started laughing. That attracted the attention of another woman, who broke away from the group of witches she was talking to and walked over.

"You're not annoying the kids, are you David?" she asked, flashing a bright smile at Ria and Adam and flicking her fire-engine red hair out of her eyes.

"Of course not, Lila," David replied, pretending to be offended by the question. Adam laughed at their antics, but Ria just looked the other way, feigning boredom.

The air was suddenly filled with white lights, and Leo appeared, his form agitated, his eyes filled with frustration. "Stupid Elders," he muttered under his breath.

"Uncle Leo," Adam cried happily, hugging his uncle's legs. "We weren't sure when you would get back." He looked up at his uncle and confided in a low whisper, "But I wasn't afraid."

Leo smiled and ruffled Adam's hair. "Of course you weren't. I bet you were brave and protected your sister from the dangers here." Adam's face lit up and he nodded excitedly, but Ria just shook her head in exasperation. And yet, even she couldn't quite keep the smile from tugging at the corners of her lips and she glanced at her brother's wide shining eyes.

Leo stared down at Adam's expression and wondered why things couldn't be as easy with his two sons. Sometimes he simply didn't understand how Chris and Wyatt had drifted so far away from him.

"Nice kids you got there, white-lighter," David said.

Leo frowned, noticing the presence of the two strangers for the first time. "Who are you?" he demanded warily.

"I'm David," the witch replied. He gestured to Lila. "And that's Lila." His eyes traveled to Adam and Ria and then back to Leo. "I just saw the two kids standing alone, and I wanted to make sure they were okay. They seemed a little lost."

Leo let out an angry breath. "Yes, the white-lighters' meeting went longer than I would have liked," he said coldly, still furious at the Elders for their decision. Although he couldn't fault their logic, it went against everything he believed in to just seal themselves off from the world.

David nodded. "Well… they looked lonely. I was just trying to cheer them up." He lowered his voice and continued, "Since I don't think so many people around here are thrilled by their presence."

Leo raised an eyebrow.

"You think we wouldn't recognize members of the Halliwell family?" Lila asked softly. She frowned and continued, "I blame you all just as much as the next witch, but we're in this together so I figure we should act like a team. Besides," she looked down at Adam, who was oblivious to the conversation, "they're just kids."

Leo felt something inside him loosen. Here were two people who trusted him and his niece and nephew, despite their family background.

"I heard a rumor that the witch hunters are going to be given permission to shoot a suspected witch on sight," David commented. Lila and Ria looked at him in surprise, but Leo just nodded sadly. He had expected that to happen sooner or later.

"We're going to need a safer place eventually," Ria said. "This won't hold everyone for long." She glanced around the dismal sewers and sighed. The more people who needed a place to hide, the more the magic would have to strain to keep them protected. And now they had to worry about demons and mortals…

Leo nodded thoughtfully. "I have an idea…" he mused, "but I'm going to need to do a little investifation." He gave Lila a shrewd look and wondered just how much he could trust these two witches.

Lila, seeming to read Leo's mind, said, "We can keep an eye on your niece and nephew if you want." She offered a gentle smile, and Leo considered her offer.

"Alright," he agreed at last. His eyes moved to Ria. "Attack them if they try anything," he ordered, and Ria broke into the first true smile that had graced her face in days.

Leo bent down next to Adam. "I'll be back soon, okay?" he promised. "Can you be a big boy and look after your sister for me?"

Adam gave a solemn nod. "I won't let you down," he promised.

Leo stared at him in surprise. Adam had grown up so quickly, and sometimes, like this moment now, the little boy seemed gone completely, replaced by an older, wiser, sadder man. The white-lighter knew that this happened to all Halliwells, but it seemed more sudden in Adam.

He felt a lump form in his throat.

"I know you won't," Leo muttered as he orbed away.

* * *

Jason barely had time to duck as the fire ball flew past his face. He felt the burst of heat and another fireball grazed his arm and he gasped in pain and shock.

They were standing in the middle of the street in downtown San Francisco, and he was being attacked by demons.

People came running, wanting to witness the event. Instead of seeing danger and moving away, the spectators were apparently stupid enough to gather closer, some morbid interested driving them.

Prue shoved her father to the ground as another fire ball spiraled towards them. Every bit of common sense was telling her not to use her powers. Not in public, not where people would see, not when it would undo all the hard work that her father had put into keeping their names clean.

But the demons were attacking her, and she wasn't entirely sure they would get out of this alive if she didn't fight back.

She lifted a hand and pointed at the first demon.

Jason rolled to his knees and stared at his daughter in horror, knowing what she was about to do. Time slowed down as a burst of fire erupted from her palm, crackling through the air and slamming into one of the demons. The demon cried in anguish as he was vanquished, but even that appeared to take a long time. he burnt and burnt and burnt and Jason just stared in helpless despair.

They were exposed.

Jason did the only thing he could think of.

"Leo! _Leo_!"

Time raced forward again, and Prue vanquished the other demon. The crowd was screaming, and people were crying, and someone was running towards them. A witch hunter, Jason thought. The other man was raising a gun, but Prue knocked him off his feet with a gust of wind. Then Leo appeared and grabbed Leo and Prue by the shoulders, orbing them both away.

As they disappeared, Jason could still hear the screams of, "Die, witch!" echoing in his ears.

When they reformed, Jason stumbled forward, his head reeling. He was never fond of orbing, and that combined with their close brush with death at the hands of demons and witch hunters left him dizzy and confused. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, trying in vain to push away the memory of the fear and loathing he had seen in the eyes of the crowd. These people, these innocents, who the sisters had given their lives to keep safe, so quickly turned on the next generation of Halliwells as soon as they saw something they didn't understand…

He'd walked away from Phoebe when he discovered the truth, but he'd come back in the end. He'd just needed some time, and even in that break, even when he was the most angry, the most upset with Phoebe, he never once dreamt of burning her at the stake. Where did people get the idea that this was an appropriate reaction to the exposure of magic?

It was then that Jason realized that he was not in his penthouse or at the Manor, or in fact any plae he recognized. They were standing next to a waterfall, in the shade of a great willow. The grass under their feet was soft and green and dotted with tiny flowers.

"Where are we?" Jason muttered, turning to Leo.

"Some place safe," Leo replied cryptically.

Before Jason had a chance to demand further details, two small figures appeared in front of him, and threw themselves at him and Prue with shouts of glee.

"Uncle Jason! Prue!"

Jason wrapped his arms around Adam and smiled at Ria, feeling a swelling of relief in his chest. He knew they were safe with Leo, but he hadn't seen or heard from them in two weeks, and it was a long time to not receive any details about the children he had practically raised himself. Adam hugged him back, and he closed his eyes, cherishing the moment of reunion.

As he opened his eyes and straightened up, several women stepped into the clearing, appearing between the trees. He eyed them suspiciously. They were dressed in short skirts and skimpy shirts and high-heeled boots. They carried knives at their sides, and wore strange green pendants around their necks. Although Jason was not a witch, even he could sense the power that radiated from them.

"Where are we?" Jason repeated. "Who are they?" He gestured towards the women as he looked over at Leo.

As he spoke, others appeared around him. There were witches and gypsies and leprechauns and nymphs and other magical beings. They all stared at Jason and Prue apprehensively, clumped together in tight groups, wary of strangers. Jason knew instantly that these were people who had been forced into hiding by the recent magical exposure. Was this the safe haven that the Elders had created or some other place Leo had found?

Another woman stepped into the crowd, and the others parted for her. She was pale, with a cascade of blonde hair that fell around her shoulders. She too was wearing the same green pendant. She fixed Jason with a penetrating stare, then slid her gaze to Leo.

"He's not magical," she said.

Leo shrugged. "He's family," he replied.

The woman pursed her lips, but nodded reluctantly.

"Who are you?" Prue said, speaking up for the first time since their arrival. She seemed shaken by the battle with the demons and the screams from the crowd, but she'd recovered her composure well enough to glare at the other woman when she didn't answer right away. "Where are we?"

"I'm Freya," the woman said at last. "Leader of the Valkeries." She extended her arms and waved to the other women with the green pendants. "You're in our home. You'll be safe here."

Leo touched her arm and Prue looked up at him. He gave her a tired smile and said softly, "Welcome to Valhalla."

* * *

Next Chapter: Brave New World

Due: Thurs 4/12


	9. Brave New World

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't anything

Author's note: This chapter takes place over the course of two weeks, and starts around the same time as the last chapter. It focuses on Chris and Wyatt. The quote at the beginning of the chapter is from Shakespeare's _The Tempest_.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Brave New World

_"O wonder!  
How many goodly creatures are there here!  
How beauteous mankind is!  
O brave new world,  
That has such people in't!"_

"Wyatt…"

"Chris, please, trust me."

"You know I trust you. But I don't like this. Why can't we… why can't we do something else?"

"We can't erase what happened. Magic has been exposed. Now we just have to make the best of it."

"It's our _home_, Wy."

"Not anymore."

"But…"

"Chris, the demons are all almost under my control. But there are some that are rebelling, some that are fighting back, and I… I need to stop them."

"And how exactly will this help you do that?"

"Intimidation. Remind them of the power from which we come, and that which we posses."

"And the mortals, Wy? How will they react? They're burning witches at the stake!"

"And this will change public opinion. This will make them see the truth, that magic isn't good or evil, it just is."

"Wyatt, you can't…"

"You said you trusted me."

"…I do…"

* * *

The Chairman stared out of the window of his office on the very top floor of the high rise building. San Francisco swept out before him, a sprawling city of homes and businesses and people. From way up here, they looked like nothing more than ants, tiny little dots milling across the ground.

That's all they really were, anyway. Dots, ants, insignificant specks.

"Nice view, isn't it?"

The Chairman spun around, beady eyes narrowing into thin black slits. A young man stood in front of him, long blonde hair and glittering blue eyes, a smirk playing across his features.

The Chairman stiffened, ill-pleased at having been caught unawares. But he allowed himself a moment to relax and a triumphant smile lit his eyes. He recognized that man. After all, who wouldn't? His face was plastered on wanted pictures, constantly shown on television, distributed in local newspapers. Every single person in San Francisco had seen the video footage showing this… monster… killing another man with his powers.

Standing before him, was Wyatt Matthew Halliwell. The first of the witches to be identified, the one who had exposed magic to the world…

He'd avoided detection for two weeks, evading the Chairman's ever expanding grasp. He was the most wanted of the witches, if they could capture him, it would be a symbolic gesture, a warning to the other witches that no one could hide forever.

And after all their searching had failed, Wyatt had just blithely walked into his clutches.

The security cameras in the corners of the room would have registered the witch's presence, and the Chairman was confident that it would only take a few moments before the entire witch-hunting squad came pouring into his office. All he had to do was stall the witch…

"What do you want?" the Chairman asked coldly.

"Manners, manners," Wyatt admonished, pretending to be appalled. "Shouldn't you invite me to sit down first?"

The Chairman raised an eyebrow, but nodded slowly. Unlike many of the other mortals, he did not underestimate the powers of these witches. He was no match for Wyatt on his own, so it was best just to go along with the game until backup arrived.

"Please, have a seat," he said politely, gesturing towards a chair across from his desk. He took a seat behind his desk, resting his hands on smooth surface and eyeing Wyatt. "Tell me, Mr. Halliwell, how can I help you?"

Wyatt sat down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I'd like you to stop the witch hunts, but I doubt that you're going to do that one willingly, are you?" he replied in mock politeness.

"It wouldn't do to let dangerous men and women roam the streets unstopped, would it?" the Chairman retorted. "I have the city's safety to think about, after all."

Wyatt sneered. "You're only trying to protect the world, are you?" he asked sarcastically. "Well, I am too. Only I have a different way of doing that."

"Perhaps," the Chairman agreed, inclining his head. "But it is my way that matters, because I am the one with the power."

Wyatt's eyebrows scrunched together as he feigned confusion. "You have the power…?" he muttered in a puzzled voice. "And what power would that be?"

As if on cue, the doors of the office burst open, and several men streamed into the room, guns drawn and pointed at Wyatt. The first men who had entered the room had stun-guns, meant only to knock out the target, and send them into a deep sleep. They fired instantly, and at such close range, there was no way they could miss.

Wyatt casually waved a hand, using his powers to stop the drug-filled bullets in midair. "Impressive," he drawled, turning back to the Chairman. "Quite impressive power. Still…" he looked down at his hand, conjuring an energy ball. "Mine's better, don't you think?"

"Kill him!" the Chairman hissed, his face apoplectic with rage.

The sound of gunshots filled the air, heavy and sharp cracks, like a branch breaking in the wind. But the bullets never reached Wyatt; they too froze in midair, some only centimeters away from his body. Then, flinging his hand out, Wyatt sent each and every witch hunter flying backwards, smashing into the walls, and slumping to the floor, stunned.

The Twice Blessed glanced back at the Chairman. "Did you really think you'd be able to stop me?" he asked, his voice filled with laughter. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward so that he was o"I'm not just any witch."

The Chairman acted quickly, striking out with his right hand and plunging a needle into Wyatt's arm. Wyatt barely had a chance to register the attack before his eyelids began to droop, pulling him into a drug-induced sleep.

"And I'm not just any man," the Chairman replied haughtily, but his voice echoed back and forth, as though it was coming from far away.

Wyatt gathered his magic around him. With what seemed like painstaking slowness, he managed to force his body to separate into thousands of tiny blue and black orbs, scattering them away from the current location, targeting the underground cavern where he knew Chris was waiting.

His last conscious thought was that he forgot to tell the Chairman to duck.

As the young witch's body disappeared, the Chairman lunged forward, one hand outstretched, trying in vain to grasp the tiny lights. They slipped through his fingers, his quarry evading him once again. Fury built up inside of him, pounding through his veins.

Before he had a chance to regroup from this latest failure, however, the room suddenly exploded with the sounds of tiny flying objects cascading through the air.

The bullets had unfrozen.

The Chairman could not move in time.

His bullet-ridden body slumped over the desk, blood slowly spreading out on the desk, creating pools of dark red liquid.

* * *

"Wy…? What happened? You've been asleep for hours!"

"I'm fine, Chris."

"But…"

"Really, I'm fine. But the witch hunters… they're too much of a threat. They have to be stopped."

"Did they get you?"

"Almost, but I got away in time. It won't happen again, I promise you that."

"How are we going to stop them, Wy? They're not just going to give up, not until we're all dead. Who knows what's happening to the rest of the magical community. And our family…"

"We're going to stop them, Chris. I promise, we're going to stop the witch hunters. They won't get away with this. I won't let them."

"How?"

"I have a plan."

"Well? What is it, Wy?"

"It starts with the Manor."

* * *

The clock struck midnight. The house was silent, not a soul moved through the dark hallways. A fine layer of dust covered everything, a reminder of abandonment. Some of the artifacts had been removed from the house, confiscated by the San Francisco Coalition for Community Safety, but that had been two weeks ago, and no one had set foot in the house since then.

Until now.

The sudden burst of light signaled the appearance of someone. Black and blue orbs coalesced into a figure who knew this house well, who had grown up here, who remembered what it was like when it was filled with laughing children and happy adults.

But that time was gone, fading away into the distant past, and the house had a different destiny now.

A moment later, the air rippled, and two more figures appeared, shimmering into the house with apparent ease. In the past, they would not have so carelessly entered this hallowed manor. In the past, walking in here may well have been a death sentence.

But not now.

The witch glanced around, then began walking towards the stairs, making his way to the attic. The demons followed silently, exchanging apprehensive looks with each other. They did not like working for a witch, it went against everything they believed in, everything they had always assumed about the way the world worked. But they weren't fools, and they both knew that the tide was turning. This witch had power, and he was going to use it, and he was going to win.

And they always backed the winning side.

* * *

"What would Mom say, Wy?"

"About what?"

"Our house! Our _home_. The manor. What you did to it, what you turned it into. A _museum_. What would Mom say about that?"

"She would say that she wants her family to be safe, Chris. She would say that there's no bigger picture than her family."

* * *

People are drawn to the morbid, the gruesome, the fearful. Curiosity gets the better of mankind, pulling them towards what they should really avoid.

Why do we watch the news when all it shows are disasters? Why do we look for the sensational scandals? Why do horrible murders sell so many newspapers? Why do reality television shows pit one person against another, instead of trying to build unity? Why do we prefer betrayal to trust in entertainment? Why are we so fascinated by these things?

Perhaps it is simply human nature.

They came.

Wyatt knew they would.

The Manor opened, and they flocked to it, each eager to see what this museum would tell them. Witch hunters roamed the streets, spreading their propaganda, preaching that magic was evil and dark and unnatural and twisted. And people accepted this, and called for witches to be burned at the stake.

But still they came. They wanted to see what this place would offer, what sordid details they could dredge up. They wanted the excitement that came with learning about something new and strange and… different.

Overnight, Wyatt had managed to turn the Manor, once his home, into an exhibit. It wasn't at it's finest yet, it had so much more potential, so much more he wanted to do with it. He wanted a hologram of the Book of Shadows, he wanted replicas of costumes his mother had worn, he wanted example potions. For now, he only had bits and pieces of memorabilia, old spells, and demons willing to walk through the house and give tours.

But it was enough.

People came.

There would be time later to touch up the place, to add the parts that would truly draw the audience in. For now, people would come for the novelty. Later, they'd come for the prestige.

Two days ago, the Chairman of the San Fransisco Committee for Community Safety had been found dead in his office, riddled with bullets. Two days ago, witch hunters were given permission to shoot a suspected witch on sight. Two days ago, Freya had opened Valhalla to magical creatures looking to escape persecution.

But none of that mattered now.

Today was what mattered, because today the world changed.

Today, people lined up outside of the Manor, eager for the tours, eager to see the morbid, the gruesome, the scandal.

The demons didn't like it, of course. They were forced to walk through the Manor and explain each and every Charmed One vanquish that they could recall. They had to tell the stories, relating how the Charmed Ones had beaten their kind again and again… and again.

But when one of the demons protested this assignment, Wyatt slowly tortured him to death.

No one else protested.

Demonic factions were growing less and less pleased with the prospect of openly defying Wyatt Halliwell. Soon the magical world would be under his control. All he needed was to seize the mortal world as well, and stop this violence, this persecution.

Then no one would hurt his family ever again.

The witch hunters came, of course. They walked into the Manor and attempted to arrest the demonic guides. The demons, who were under strict orders not to kill a single human, were often forced to flea, shimmering away. Sometimes, the witch hunters arrested the spectators as well.

But the tide was turning, and everyone knew it.

Three days after the museum was opened, a group of witch hunters approached a demonic guard and demanded that he accompany them to Headquarters for questioning. Before the demon could react, however, the crowd of mortal museum-visitors surged around him, refusing to allow him to leave.

They wanted the tour to continue.

One girl, perhaps eight nor nine, asked the head witch hunter in a soft and innocent voice, "That man said that the witches… the Charmed Ones… protected us from evil. Doesn't that mean that they were good?"

And the crowd cried out in support and agreement.

They didn't want the Manor shut down.

Wyatt, wrapped in invisibility, watched as the witch hunters were bodily thrown from the house by the group of mortals, watched as those witch hunters raised their guns and opened fire into the crowd, watched as the two demonic tour guides used their powers to stop the bullets and save the crowd.

And soon the crowd was screaming at the witch hunters, calling them the villains.

Wyatt saw this, and smiled.

People are drawn to the morbid, the gruesome, the fearful. Curiosity gets the better of mankind, pulling them towards what they really should avoid.

* * *

"The witch hunters are losing influence, Watt."

"I know, Chris. It's been two weeks since the museum was opened, and already people are starting to wonder about the burnings."

"What now?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to see our family. I want to see Prue and Ria and Adam and Uncle Jason. I want to know that they're safe."

"They are safe. We would know if they weren't, Chris."

"I know. What do you want to do now?"

"I want to finish what I started. I want to save the world."

Chris would think about that conversation three years later, after watching the world crash and burn around him, after losing everything he cared about, after being forced to jump through time to save his present, his parents' future.

Wyatt only wanted to save the world.

And, in some ways, he had. He'd saved it from the witch hunters, after all.

Irony was a funny thing.

And hell comes in many different shapes and forms.

Wyatt saved the magical community.

And ended up destroying it.

* * *

Next Chapter: None So Blind... (...As Those Who Refuse to See)

Due: Sun 5/22


	10. None So Blind

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Hm... Don't really have anything to say here. Just... please review? Please? Oh, and when you review, make sure to sign in so that I can reply to the review...

* * *

Chapter Ten: None So Blind… (As Those Who Refuse to See)

Leo watched as Ria, Adam, and Prue sat in the shade of the trees near the waterfall. Prue had a book open in her lap, a spell book, one of the few they'd been able to remove from the Manor before the rest were confiscated. The white-lighter didn't know what his niece was looking for, but he could tell by the determined expression on her features that she did not intended to give up easily.

The sound of footsteps caused Leo to turn and look at the approaching man. He nodded his head in weary greeting. "Jason."

"Leo." Jason ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his daughter. "I don't think Freya likes me very much," he remarked casually.

"Oh?" Leo questioned, one eyebrow raised.

They'd been in the safety of Valhalla for two weeks now, and Leo had slowly been bringing as many magical beings to the island as he could. Freya was less than pleased by this complete takeover of her domain, but she gave in, albeit ungracefully. She recognized that these people needed somewhere safe to hide, or else they'd been murdered by witch hunters or demons, and Evil would gain ground.

Still, it didn't mean that she liked the fact that some mortals had come to the island as well.

"I was speaking to a few of the newcomers about what Valkeries do, and one of the witches asked if they were good at fighting," Jason remarked wryly. "Freya was there, listening to the conversation, and when the woman asked that…" He shook his head and said wryly, "Freya decided to demonstrate her fighting prowess… on me."

Leo had trouble restraining a smirk, and Jason glared at him.

"I am covered in bruises," the mortal snapped irritably.

Leo smiled and glanced back at Prue, Ria, and Adam. His expression faltered then fell, and Jason knew he was thinking about his own children.

"I heard about what Wyatt did to the Manor," Jason said softly. They'd all heard the stories. David had gone out into the world yesterday and come back with stories of a new museum that had opened. It was… inconceivable that Wyatt would have done something like that.

"The witch hunters have less power, less influence. People are turning against them," Leo said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation. "Wyatt did that. Wyatt… Wyatt changed things."

"By turning your family into a bunch of exhibits?" Jason asked skeptically.

Leo turned to look at Jason, a contemplative look on his face. "Wyatt just wanted to fix things, to make them better. Exactly like he was thinking when he cast a spell on Anya Lakin… and now…" Leo had heard the rumors, and he knew that Jason had heard them too. Wyatt was convincing demons to work for him, and he'd killed the Chairman of the San Francisco Committee for Community Safety. "He's trying to do the right thing, and, in the process, he's doing the wrong one…"

Jason, realizing what Leo was saying, sighed and replied, "But there's still a chance you can get through to him. Still a chance you can… bring him back to the right side."

"No," Leo muttered. "I had that chance. It's gone now. I failed him."

Jason looked over at Prue again. She'd put the book aside and was talking to Adam about something. The young boy was laughing at whatever she had said, and Ria looked on with a bemused expression. They were relaxed, and even though some tension still lingered in the air around them and reflected in Prue's eyes, it was more than he would have hoped for two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, and he thought he'd never see his daughter smile again.

"I never thought you were a particularly good father," Jason said. "I didn't understand why you spent so much time in the Heavens, why you missed parties and school plays and family dinners. I always thought… I thought that you just… just didn't care about your family."

"I cared," Leo began heatedly, but Jason held up a hand to forestall any of his arguments.

"But then the world went to hell, and I understand now why you thought protecting it was so important. I see what Evil can do, what exposure can do… I get it. I get that maybe you were right and Piper, Phoebe, and Paige were wrong. Sometimes there are more important things than your family."

Leo stared out into the distance, considering the words. Was Jason right? Was the world that important? Ever since the Elders had closed the Heavens, he'd been wrestling with that question. They'd wanted to protect the magical world and its future, and this was the only way to do it, but at what cost?

After Leo had left Up There two weeks ago, a few other white-lighters had joined him, explaining that they would risk banishment by the Elders, but they wouldn't leave their charges. It wasn't what they were brought up to do. They put the good magic at great risk by exposing themselves to the dangers of the witch hunters, who so far knew nothing of white-lighters; but they wouldn't leave, no matter the threat.

So now a small band of white-lighters remained behind to heal wounds and guide their charges, and Leo couldn't help but wonder if he shouldn't have done this a long time ago. Should he have just left the Elders and stayed with his family, refusing to follow the rules? After all, what good did the rules do now?

Nothing was black and white anymore.

Jason exhaled slowly, drawing Leo's attention to him, and continued, "You saved us. You brought us here, you arranged to give us access to Valhalla. The Elders abandoned us, but you didn't. You convinced other white-lighters to stay here with us. You… Leo, everything you've done, it's nothing short of a miracle." He gave the white-lighter a penetrating stare. "You're only a failure if you give up."

* * *

It took Leo the better part of a week to find the cave. He had to give his oldest son credit, Wyatt had hid himself and his brother well.

Leo glanced around the dimly lit space. Flickering torches cast long shadows across the dirt floor and illuminated the tiny specks of dust that floated in the air, still and unmoving. For a moment, his bright white orbs had lit up the room, and he knew that Chris must be aware of his presence. He could sense his younger son hiding back in the dark shadows.

Wyatt wasn't here.

But Leo had known that already, he'd planned it that way. He _wanted_ to talk to Chris while Wyatt wasn't there.

"Hello, Dad," Chris said blankly, stepping out of the shadows and staring at his father. "Long time no see."

Over two weeks, Leo thought, but he didn't say it. He just stared at his son. He'd always known that Wyatt and Chris were safe, but somehow it made it so much more real, so much better, to see his son, in the flesh, and unharmed. Relief flooded his features.

"Hi, Chris." Leo took a few steps further into the cave. "You know, you don't have to hide here," he said. "I've set up a safe place for us where no one can find you. You can hang out in the sun…" He trailed off and stared at Chris, waiting for an answer.

"I can't just leave Wyatt," Chris said coldly.

"He could come too," Leo answered, although he knew that Freya would be less than pleased by that comment.

"He can't leave," Chris argued emotionlessly. "The demons will get out of control. And who will make sure the Manor Museum runs smoothly?"

Leo blinked. He'd known it would be hard to convince Chris to leave, but he hadn't expected his son to be so cavalier about what Wyatt was doing. Frowning, he asked cautiously, "Are you alright with this? With what Wyatt has done to our home?"

"It's not your home, you barely ever had time to visit us while we were there," Chris snapped automatically. It wasn't quite true, Leo had spent plenty of time in the Manor. But he'd missed enough of the important family events to feel the barb in Chris' comment, and he blushed.

"Chris, he's turned your heritage into a tourist attraction," Leo objected.

"He's keeping us safe," Chris snarled. "He's protecting me. He stopped the witch hunters, Dad. They barely have any influence anymore. Soon they'll be out of power entirely. And the demons, he's kept them from attacking us."

"By forcing them to follow his orders? He's set himself up as the next Source," Leo retorted, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Please, Chris, can't you see what he's doing?"

"He's protecting me," Chris replied with a nonchalant shrug, pulling his temper back under control.

Leo shivered. He liked the angry version of Chris better; this one barely showed emotion at all.

"Perhaps," Leo conceded, knowing that Wyatt was trying to protect Chris. "But he's destroying himself in the process. Is that what you want?"

"What do _you_ want, Dad? Why are you here?" Chris asked, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.

"I want to help you," Leo replied.

Chris gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. "Like you and your precious Elders tried to help Wyatt? You going to lock me in a cage and try to strip my powers too?" He narrowed his eyes and answered Leo's unspoken question, "Wyatt told me what happened. That's how I know."

Leo reached out to put a hand on Chris' shoulder, but the young witch-lighter shrugged it off and stepped away from his father, turning his back on the older man.

"Wyatt is out of control. He needs help, and you know that," Leo said firmly, refusing to give up yet. "Can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me that it doesn't bother you that the Manor is a museum? Or that Wyatt's working with demons? Or that he got the Chairman killed?"

Chris glanced back at Leo, an icy smirk fixed onto his features. "He's killed before, and I was fine with it then." he replied. "I even let him plant a memory in my mind so that you wouldn't know it was him."

When the truth of Chris' meaning sunk in, Leo stepped back as though he had been slapped. "Nathaniel Pratt…" he whispered. So the Elders were right all along. Wyatt was responsible for that death, and Chris had lied to protect his brother. Was Chris really that far gone? Did he see nothing wrong with what Wyatt had done?

"That's right," Chris said simply.

"No," Leo responded abruptly, eyes filling with fire as he stared at Chris. "No, you weren't okay with it." Chris gave his father a disbelieving look, and Leo said, "You're pretending to be accepting of all of this, but you aren't. I know you aren't, Chris. You're just as upset by what Wyatt's doing as I am."

"Yeah, right," Chris muttered under his breath, his back still turned to his father.

"Look at me, Chris," Leo ordered. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't mind that your home is a museum. Tell me you thinks it okay that Wyatt's working with demons. Tell me that, Chris."

Chris spun around, raising his eyes to his father, anger flooding his features. He opened his mouth to say something, to tell his father that he was wrong, that Wyatt was fine. But he looked into his father's searching blue eyes and the words died on his lips.

When he finally found his voice, he was only able to force out the convoluted words, "You don't know the first thing about me, Dad. You never did."

"I know you love your brother just as much as he loves you. And I know you want what is best for him," Leo said softly. "Which is why I know that, sooner or later, you'll open your eyes and see the truth."

"Don't count on it," Chris growled, his voice lowering. "He's my brother, and I will never betray him like you and the Elders did. _Never_."

"You're betraying him by staying here, Chris. By not trying to stop him before he spins too far out of control," Leo argued, but even as he said the words, he couldn't help but think that Wyatt already was past saving, and had been for a while.

Chris just glared at his father, then orbed away, leaving Leo standing alone in the dimly lit cave.

_You're only a failure if you give up._

It was so simple when Jason said it, but Leo wasn't sure if it was actually true. He had no intention of giving up on either of his sons, but if they refused to come back to him, they were already lost. He couldn't force Chris to see what was right in front of him if the witch-lighter refused to do it. He couldn't force Chris to stop being blind.

None so blind…

Leo sighed and orbed from the cave.

* * *

Next Chapter: Forever Strong

Due: Sun 4/29


	11. Forever Strong

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter is a bit odd, but I was in an odd mood when I wrote it. It is written in Chris' point of view as he confronts the Halliwell Museum and deals with the memory of his mother.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Forever Strong

It was the first time I stepped into the Manor, the first time I saw what it had become…

Four weeks since my father came to speak to me, tried to tell me that Wyatt was changing, that I needed to leave him.

Four weeks, at the witch hunters are almost completely gone now. Wyatt has replaced them with his own minions, demons and a few witches, people who promise to protect mortals and the world.

For the most part, they do. Witches are no longer burned at the stake, but they are still hunted out. All magical beings that Wyatt finds, he forces to be registered. To keep them safe, to keep us safe…

I don't know anymore.

Dad, Uncle Jason, Prue, Ria, Adam… I haven't seen them in four weeks. They're gone, hiding away somewhere, and even Wyatt can't find them.

They're hiding from the mortals, the demons… and Wyatt.

That's the irony. For all his efforts, Wyatt hasn't removed the dangers to us all. He hasn't gotten rid of the witch hunters, he's just taken control of them. He hasn't vanquished the demons, he's just wrapped them around his finger. They're still there, in a different shape and form, but with the same motives.

Four weeks, and I left the cave. Four weeks, and I moved out into the open, into the light.

It was the first time I stepped into the Manor, the first I saw what it had become…

In the hallway directly in front of the stairs, a screen slid down into place, displaying with vivid detail the reconstitution of the Charmed Ones. Paige's hair was still dark, too dark for her pale skin. Phoebe had long hair then, why on Earth had she decided to cut it? And Piper…

Mom.

No, not Mom. Not in that picture. That was long before she was Mom. That was when she was just Piper Halliwell, when she was young and…and alive.

And strong.

Her strength, she would always say, came from her family.

That was what she left me with. Platitudes.

I believed everything she said.

If she had told me that the sky was pink and the sun was blue and the wind plaid the violin as it blew through the tree branches, I would have believed her. If she had said that the world spun in opposite directions every day and the sea froze over at night, I wouldn't have questioned the truth of her statements. If she had informed me that fire was cold and snow was hot, and the mountains danced in the summer while angels play poker on the clouds, I would have accepted every word she said as fact.

But she didn't say any of those things. Instead, she gave me platitudes, and I believed them, and I'm not so sure what to think anymore.

To the right of the screen were plastic and Styrofoam mannequins dressed in superhero costumes. Tights and all. Short and skimpy, of course, but all the costumes were like that. It was as though the Powers That Be were playing a great cosmic joke on me, as though they took pleasure in the fact that I was surrounded by memories that my mother used to run around the city practically naked as she fought the forces of darkness.

Couldn't they have ever had her turn into an Eskimo? Just once, couldn't she have worn something with more material than a handkerchief?

Through the hallway and into the kitchen where a series of potion recipes and spells were laid out. They each held a lifetime of memories, good and bad. The spell to vanquish the Wendigo. I had heard multiple times the story where Mom turned into the horrible hairy creature and tried to kill everyone.

And if I remember correctly, when the spell had been broken, she had found herself in the middle of a park at midnight with no clothes on.

Typical.

And so _not_ what I needed to know.

From the corner of the kitchen, one loan picture stared down at us all, watching with what I once imagined was benevolent amusement. But I wonder if she sees benevolence in what is happening how, I wonder if she can look down on her oldest son and watch without remembering what once was and longing for what could have been.

He wanted to move the picture. I asked him not to.

I don't know why.

I also don't know why he agreed.

But he had, and his demons had sneered behind his back at his display of affection and familial kindness.

Sneered until he had killed them all with a simple wave of his hand.

Then he had asked me why I wanted the picture and I had told him the truth.

I didn't know.

It was just a simple picture of Mom. She was standing by the side of the house, staring at something just beyond our line of vision. Her hair is blown in her face, and as I stare at the picture, I find myself wondering if she knew how strong and beautiful she was.

How strong and beautiful they all were.

Always together, always united. In everything they did. Together, they were unstoppable.

I wonder what they think now, when they look down at us.

Do they sit side by side and look down together? United even in the afterlife?

What do they see when they look at us?

My mother once told me that the ends don't justify the means, that the wrong thing for the right reasons is still the wrong thing, that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Then we buried her under six feet of dirt. And every year I buried another person I cared about until there was nothing left for me.

Look at this world, I want to scream. I want to force her to look around and see what her son has done. I want her to tell me that she still believes all those platitudes she gave me before.

More importantly, I want her to tell me if I should still believe in them.

Wyatt only wants to protect us, protect me. Protect the world. Can I blame him for that?

Mom could say to me, "Look, Chris. Look at what Wyatt has done. He did everything for the right reasons, but it was still the wrong thing."

But then, I would ask her, what would she have done had she been in Wyatt's position?

Would she have let Anya Lakin take me away? Would she have let Ria burn at the stake?

Tell me that, Mother? Isn't 'family comes first' one of your favorite sayings? So wouldn't you have fought for me, for us? Even if it meant crossing a line? Or would you have just stood by and let everything fall apart?

You left us. You left _me_.

You told me you would always be there for me, you told me you would always love me. You told me you would always guide me and help me because I was more important to you than all the rest of the world combined.

Dad was never around. He's still never around, but now I am the one choosing to avoid him.

I was mad at him. I _am_ mad at him.

But I'll give him this much, Mother, he never lied to me about the world. He may have lied about everything else, but he never pretended that I was worth more than the entire world.

Does family still come first if the entire world is at stake?

Is the entire world at stake? Is Wyatt destroying it? I don't even know anymore.

He's united the demonic Underworld and placed himself as the Source. He's killed mortals, he's turned the Manor into a Museum, he's revealed out lives to the world.

But… the demons don't attack me now. And the mortals… Pratt and the Chairman… their deaths were accidental. And could you even call them innocents?

I don't know what to do.

Does anyone?

Wyatt thinks my mother and aunts know what to do, even in the afterlife. At least, that's the image he wants the world to see. He wants them to be respected and esteemed as goddesses so that he will be given the same reverence.

They are his past, his heritage.

The power from which he was born and that which he possesses.

It's a favorite saying of his, and it almost makes me want to laugh. Almost. The power from which _I_ came and the power that _I _possess. Did he forget he has a brother and cousins?

Perhaps he did. Or perhaps he doesn't think of us as anything other than an extension of himself. He has taken my home and turned it into a museum. He has taken my life and turned it into propaganda. He has taken my heritage and turned it into a legend.

I don't want the museum, the propaganda, or the legend.

I want my brother.

"What do you think?"

I turn and face him, hiding my feelings behind a blank stare. My brother would have seen through the charade, would have noted my displeasure, but this man in front of me is not my brother. He is just a cheap fraud, a stranger wearing a familiar face, and he sees nothing.

And yet, somehow, he still needs my approval. He still needs me to say that this is imposing, remarkable, awe-inspiring. He still needs me to pretend that it does not hurt to see what he has done to our childhood home.

He wants me to like this museum he has made.

"Impressive," I say.

And it is.

"They'll worship the power. They'll understand what I can do, and they won't try to take anything away from me ever again. They won't take anything away from us. Any of us."

He isn't speaking to me anymore, but this pseudo-brother has not spoken _to_ me in a very long time.

And abruptly I know that Dad and Uncle Jason were right.

I'm on the wrong side of the battle.

The problem is, I don't know what the right side is anymore. Hell, I don't even know what the battle is anymore. And I wish so much that I did, I wish that my path was marked out before me in chalk and paint, a straight line for me to follow.

And I wish Mom and Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige were here. They would know what to do. They always knew what to do, knew the right choice to make. They knew it right up until the moment that fate snatched them from us.

What did I do to deserve this?

What decision could I have possibly made that would justify anything I have lived through?

I got dealt a lousy hand by fate.

Wyatt told me to join him. He held out his hand and I took it.

Family comes first.

Sometimes I really hate my mother and her stupid lies. Those platitudes… She actually believed them.

Maybe they worked in her world.

But they sure as hell don't work in this one.

And where is she during all of this?

Oh, that's right.

She's dead.

Someday, I'd like to point that out to her. I'd like to walk up to her and say, "Guess what, Mom? You left us all, and look what happened."

We fell apart.

She died, and Wyatt avenged her death, and vanquished every last demon that was involved in the attack. And he continued to avenge the deaths in our family, until the Underworld quaked at his feet and fled in terror from his voice. He could not save us, I know that now. But he got revenge, and for that much, I am grateful.

Does that make me a bad person?

More importantly, do I care?

An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.

Mahatma Gandhi said that.

And then he was murdered.

So maybe Wyatt's blind now. And that is why he can't see what he is doing to us, to me. He threatens the world and threatens me, and then vanquishes any demon that tries to hurt me. He is blind, or maybe he simply chooses what he wants to see.

Maybe we are all blind.

But I tried.

Doesn't that count for anything?

Because, damn it, Mother, I _tried_.

We're brothers until the end.

And like she always said, family comes first.

But I push the thought away and continue to look around this new museum my brother has made with its stories and memories and legends made out of our lives.

I don't need a reminder of the person I used to be, of the life we could have had. The life where Mom was always there to protect me, and good always won the battle at the end of the day. The life where the man standing in front of me was more than just a stranger in familiar skin.

I have moved on without him, without them, and created a new life for myself, carved it out of the burnt out ruins of my past. I tell myself, over and over, that I can do this without them, that I can live without my brother, my mother, my aunts.

It is, of course, a lie.

But the world has changed now, and to me, my mother and aunts are no longer the superheroes they once were. Now they are nothing more than faded memories, cold gravesites, and half-forgotten legends that haunt my dreams at night.

Because in my dreams they are forever strong.

* * *

Next Chapter: Some Other Beginning's End 

Due: Fri 5/11


	12. Some Other Beginning's End

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: The lyrics are from the sone _Closing Time_ by _Greenday_. The _italicized_ part at the beginning of the chapter is a flashback-memory. I've decided to start including a list of original characters just in case anyone gets confused. These are the important people who may continue to show up in later chapters. More people will be added to the list as the story progresses.

* * *

Daivd and Lila: adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Kaia: A witch who works for Wyatt

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Some Other Beginning's End

…_**closing time…**_

_Six-year-old Wyatt carefully scooped out a cup of sugar and poured it into the bowl. He and Chris had decided to make a cake for their mother today as tomorrow was her birthday. They weren't entirely sure what went into a cake, but Wyatt knew it had to have sugar in it. And chocolate. And maybe flour? Or milk? And Wyatt vaguely remembered that his mother might have put eggs in it…_

_Chris stood on top of the counter, carefully trying to pull the bag of chocolate chips down from the top shelf of the cupboard. However, it was difficult to do so, he had to move around the eggs, flour, sugar, measuring cups, carton of milk, bowl, and spoons that Wyatt had already placed near the oven._

_Balancing on one foot, he managed at last to snake his fingers around the chocolate chips. He pulled the bag out, but as he did so, he lost his balance and began to fall backwards, tumbling from the counter, knocking over the carton of milk, a few eggs, and the sugar as he did so._

_Before he could hit the floor, he instinctively orbed away. At the age of four, however, his orbs weren't under great control, especially when he was scared, and instead of orbing back in on his feet, he hit the floor at an odd angle, whimpering in pain._

_Creamy white milk spewed out across the floor, mixing with the granular sugar and the white-and-yellow of the broken eggs._

_Wyatt instantly bent down next to Chris and reached out a hand to heal him. The golden glow seeped from his fingerprints, and a moment later Chris gave a smile and stood up, good as new._

_Then Piper burst into the kitchen, hands raised, clearly expecting a demon. She froze when she saw the mess, her eyes traveling from Chris to Wyatt to the ingredients littering the countertop and the floor. _

"_What's going on?" she asked at last._

_Both boys rushed to explain, stumbling over their words as they did so._

"_We was trying to make you a cake, Mommy…"_

"_Wy and me wanted make a cake…"_

"'_Cause it's special tomorrow…"_

_They had expected Piper to be angry. She didn't like messes in her kitchen, she didn't like unsupervised children in her kitchen, she didn't like people besides her cooking. What they had not expected was for her to double over in laughter, clutching the doorpost to stay standing._

"_Oh, peanut…" She hurried over and kissed both contrite boys on the head. "How about I help you make the cake?"_

…_**open all the doors and let you out into the world…**_

"Look out!" David barreled out of his hiding place behind the dumpster, screaming at the top of his lungs, and knocking the blonde witch the ground just as the demons let loose their fireballs. The dark-haired witch flung out his hand, shooting fire from his palm and incinerating two of the demons.

That still left three more.

The witch he had just saved looked up at him, large blue eyes wide and filled with fear. She was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, and obviously new to the trade. She was also powerful, her ability to conjure making her a prime target for any demon who wanted that power.

And for Wyatt.

David was fairly certain that these demons were ones who worked for Wyatt. The girl had most likely simply refused to be registered, and that had been reason enough for Wyatt to send his minions after her. She would be lucky if she managed to escape this encounter unscathed.

One of the remaining demons conjured another fireball and snarled, "You'll be sorry, witch!"

David pulled the girl to the side, and ducked away from the fireball. He rose quickly to his feet, forming another attack. One more demon erupted into flame, screaming in fury, before falling into a pile of ashes.

The two remaining demons shimmered away quickly, only to reappear behind David. The witch barely had time to spin around before he felt a heavy blow land across his shoulders, knocking him to the ground. He kicked out with both his feet, tripping his attacker and trying to roll to the side. The wind had been knocked out of him, but he fought viciously, shooting another burst of flame, and vanquishing another demon.

The remaining demon stared at David for a moment, then turned to the blonde witch. Before David could do anything, he shimmered to her side, pulling her into a tight hold and pressing an athame against her throat.

"Don't try anything, witch, or she dies," the demon snarled.

David froze, unsure what to do, frantically trying to think through his options.

Then the blonde shoved both her elbows backwards, catching the demon in the stomach. He dropped his arms and stumbled away from her, and the girl fell forward, flinging her hands out to stop her ungainly descent.

David rushed forward to stop her fall, reaching out to steady her with both arms as he glanced over her head at the demon.

Then the girl shoved him to the ground and knelt over him, an athame appearing in her hand. She pressed it against his throat and whispered, "Don't try teleporting away, I can kill you before you ever get the chance to escape."

Cradling his injured arm, David stared at her in disbelief. "I just saved your life," he whispered frantically. "I'm on the good side. I'm trying to help you, you don't need to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid," the girl laughed, her voice cruel. The fear in her eyes was gone now, replaced by smug confidence. "You, on the other hand, are a fool." She turned to the demon. "You can go," she said dismissively, and to David's utter shock, the demon shimmered away.

"What…?"

"Let me guess. You heard the rumors that Wyatt was after me and came to rescue a poor innocent witch from horrible demons?" the girl smirked. "Well, I guess I should tell you then, David, that I'm neither poor or innocent." At David's surprised look, she continued with a smirk, "Oh, yes, I know who you are. You've made quite a name for yourself these past few weeks, stealing witches from right under Wyatt's nose and leading them to wherever your sanctuary is."

"Who are you?" David whispered.

"Kaia," the witch replied. "You'll be hearing more about me in the future, I can promise you that… assuming you survive your encounter with Wyatt." And she shimmered the two of them away.

…_**time for you to go out to the places you will be from…**_

Prue kicked at a loose stone on the ground and watched as it bounced on the dirt. She shook her head, long chocolate-brown hair falling over her shoulders and fluttering briefly in front of her eyes. They'd been on the island for a while now, but she'd lost track of the time. Maybe only a few weeks? It was hard, being here, being separated from the rest of the world, hearing only bits and pieces of what was happening. Leo was not forthcoming with the details, and Jason always just shrugged off her questions and changed the subject.

It frustrated her to no end that the adults in her life refused to let her into this part of their plans. She knew they were trying to do something, but she wasn't even really sure who they were fighting anymore. Leo rarely mentioned the witch hunters, and the refugees who were brought to the island would generally stay away from her, casting furtive looks in her direction.

She had learned quickly not to drop the last name Halliwell around anyone anymore.

That bothered her as well. Why was her family suddenly so hated and feared? What exactly was happening on the out in the world?

The sound of voices caused Prue to look up sharply. She recognized her father's low baritone, and a woman's higher pitch. Slipping back into the trees that surrounded the clearing, she crouched down and held her breath, prepared to eavesdrop on the conversation.

Jason stepped into the clearing, followed by the leader of the Valkeries, Freya. The blonde warrior had her arms crossed in front of her in a decidedly argumentative posture, and her eyes were narrowed into thin slits, flashing with anger.

"Can you really expect Leo to just give up on his sons?" Jason was saying. He looked away from Freya for a moment, running a hand through his hair and letting out a tense breath. "They are everything to him. He has to believe he can save them."

Freya gave a bitter laugh. "Have you not heard the stories the others tell, Jason?" she asked in a dangerously low voice. "There's nothing left to save. Wyatt is corrupted, and Chris is to blind to see it."

"They are good. They come from the Halliwell line. The most powerfully good magic the world has seen in centuries… possibly ever. How can you believe the are beyond saving?" Jason asked coldly. "How can you just give up?"

"How can you ask me to turn a blind eye to what is happening?" Freya retorted, biting off the words in anger.

"Why do you even care? I thought you were only concerned about the Final Battle," Jason asked, rolling his eyes. He knew it had taken a lot for Leo to convince the Valkeries to allow their island to be used as a sanctuary, and he never completely understood how they could claim to be Good and yet care so little about the state of the world.

"You're a mortal," Freya said dismissively. "You wouldn't understand."

Jason gritted his teeth and clenched his fingers into fists to keep his temper in check. Her blatant disregard of him was grating, and he'd been forced to endure it for as long as they had been there. Leo had patiently told him that Valkeries were used to having dominion over all mortal men, and his presence there went against the order that they were used to. Jason didn't find this a good enough explanation, but they were visitors on the island, and he supposed he would be forced to accept his hostesses' infuriating superiority complexes.

After all, as annoying as the Valkeries were, the persecuted witches and other magical creatures were indebted to these mystical warriors for providing a safe haven.

"Try me," Jason said at last.

"Our job is to train for the final battle. It is also to ensure that there is a final battle. To that end, your nephew has become a problem," Freya said coolly. "He's changing the order, Jason. He's erasing Good and Evil and replacing it with tyranny. That is _not_ part of the grand design."

"And you want to protect this Grand Design and ensure that we all have to fight a huge battle… and you want to do it at the expense of Chris and Wyatt Halliwell?" Jason questioned in disbelief.

Freya gave him a contemptuous glance. "Nothing is more important than the grand design. How can one single life… or even two lives… compare to the entire world?"

Jason didn't say anything, just remained silent, contemplating her words. Finally, he murmured, "I don't like it."

"You don't have to like it," Freya replied simply. "But you have to accept it."

"I don't want to," Jason muttered under his breath. It galled him, the idea of giving up on his nephews, his family.

Freya just laughed darkly. "Of course not. You mortals never do. That's the problem with you all." And she turned and walked away. At the edge of the clearing, however, she paused and looked back. "Oh, and tell your daughter, next time she wants to eavesdrop on a conversation, she should just cast a spell to make herself invisible. It works so much better than hiding in the bushes."

She disappeared, and Jason frowned, then squinted at the green underbrush, trying to find his daughter.

Prue stepped out of her hiding place, eyes wide, as she tried to understand everything she had just understood. "Dad… What's going on?" she asked at last.

What had Wyatt done?

…_**you don't have to go home but you can't stay here…**_

Chris leaned back against the wall outside Wyatt's room and watched as his brother paced back and forth across the floor. Hidden in the shadows, Chris was sure that the Twice Blessed hadn't sensed his presence yet. He'd become good and blurring it, making it so that Wyatt could sense that he was somewhere in their home, but couldn't exactly locate where.

Home…

If you could even call it that.

Their home was a museum now, and they lived in a stronghold, a fortress. An old skyscraper that Wyatt had taken over. Chris wasn't sure where the money for the purchase came from, or if they had even purchased the place at all.

He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Wyatt stopped pacing as two figures appeared in the room. One was a young girl, only a few years younger than Chris, and the other was an older man who looked to be in his late twenties. The girl had an athame pressed up against the man's throat, but she stepped away from him quickly once they were fully forced in the room.

Wyatt stared at the man for a moment, his lips spreading into a thin smirk. "Nice job, Kaia," he said at last, and the blonde witch bowed her head silently.

"So you're the infamous Wyatt Halliwell," the older man said frostily.

"And you're the infamous David Cordell," Wyatt replied. "Ability to conjure fire and to teleport. A very good fighter, brave, although a bit stupid. Has the unfortunate habit of rushing into a fight without properly weighing the risks, especially if an innocent is in danger." Wyatt tilted his head to the side. "Makes you easy to entrap."

"Are you going to kill me?" David asked. "Because if so, I'd really rather you just did it now. I don't really like small talk."

Chris inhaled sharply. David may have sounded blasé about his death, but Chris could tell that he really expected to die. Still… Wyatt wouldn't kill anyone, would he?

"Tell me where your sanctuary is, and you won't die," Wyatt offered.

"I admire your magnanimity, but I'm going to have to decline the offer," David replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes in contempt. "Did you really think I would betray everyone like that?"

"No," Wyatt said simply. "But that is a problem I can take care of later." He waved his hand, orbing David away. Then he turned to Kaia. "You may go."

The young witch shimmered away.

Wyatt rubbed his eyes wearily and looked around the room. He wouldn't kill David, he didn't kill witches. Or humans. At least, not on purpose. Pratt and the Chairman had both been accidents, and he had been acting in self-defense. But to actually go out and hunt a witch…?

He knew some of the demons that worked for him did that. If a witch refused to be registered, they were sometimes a little… harsh… in their methods of… convincing… that witch. And not everyone always survived.

But didn't they see? Wyatt slammed his fist against the wall in frustration. If the witches were registered, he could keep an eye on them, make sure they didn't get attacked. If a registered witch got attacked, he could find the demon that did it, and make sure that demon never hurt anyone ever again. It was for their own safety and protection, and they still refused.

It wasn't tyranny. He was only trying to keep everyone safe.

David was a problem. So where the others that Leo had convinced to work with him. Sooner or later, Wyatt would have to address that issue. But right now, he had other problems to worry about.

David could cool his feet for a few nights before Wyatt dealt with him. The entire place was protected by spells, David wouldn't be able to escape the room Wyatt had sent him to. In the meantime, there were still plenty of demon clans that were disinclined to accept Wyatt's authority, and they needed to be eliminated.

The sound of footsteps in the room caused Wyatt to look up in surprise and alarm. Chris was standing in the doorway, a hesitant look on his face.

"Am I interrupting?" Chris asked softly.

Wyatt smiled, a true, genuine smile. "You're always welcome to interrupt."

Chris swallowed back the guilt that welled up inside of him at that comment. But after what he had just heard, what he had seen… hadn't he always known, on some level, that Wyatt was… changing…

Had his Dad really been right about that?

Wyatt had never forced Chris to be registered, assuming that his little brother would never stray out of his sight, never refuse any of his requests.

That was a mistake.

"I want to go the Bridge for a little bit," Chris said. "Just a fifteen or twenty minutes."

Wyatt nodded, always ready to grant Chris's requests. "Sure. Let me just send a couple demons with you to make sure you stay safe," he replied. "And keep your eyes open, Chris. Call if you get attacked, or anything, I'll be there in a heartbeat." Then Wyatt paused and said reassuringly, "Not that you will be attacked or anything like that."

"Wy, I'm a big boy now, you don't have to protect me from everything," Chris said with a laugh.

Wyatt rolled his eyes. "I'm your older brother, Chris. I always have to protect you for everything. It's part of the job description."

Chris almost burst into tears.

…_**closing time…**_

Chris stood on top of the Golden Gate Bridge, flanked by two demons, and stared out at the city. In the distance, the sun rose slowly over the horizon, turning the sky a fiery red, the color of blood.

Blood.

Family.

The wind tousled his hair and bit at his skin. It was cold up here, despite the closeness of the rising sun, despite the lack of clouds. But it was a different cold than the cold he had felt in the cave in the Underworld. That was a dark, damp, moldy cold that filled the air, spreading through his body with each slow inhalation of breath. This…

This was diamond bright, sharp and fiery and burning in it's intensity.

This was the realization that everything was about to change, and that once he crossed this line, he would never be able to go back.

The demons watched Chris silently, their cool expressions betraying their anger at being placed on babysitting duty.

Their anger would be short lived. For Chris, it was only the work of a moment. One hand clenched into a fist, his powers reaching out towards the demons, cutting off their air supply and preventing them from shimmering away.

A moment later, and they were nothing more than piles of ash.

And Chris called out for the one person he thought he would never want to see again.

"Dad!"

Leo appeared almost instantly, bright white and blue orbs swirling around as he formed on the Bridge. He glanced at Chris, then at the ash now floating in the wind, and frowned, curiosity raised.

"You were right," Chris said slowly, forcing the words out. "Wyatt's… different." He ran a hand through his hair, then slowly extended it towards his father. "I'm ready to go now."

Leo took Chris' hand, and the two of them orbed away.

…_**every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end…**_

* * *

Next Chapter: Mistakes We Knew We Were Making

Due: Wed 5/15


	13. Mistakes We Knew We Were Making

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter is in Wyatt's point of view and takes place directly after the last chapter.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Mistakes We Knew We Were Making

I knew he had left.

When his presence suddenly disappeared from my radar, I knew.

In the past, had that happened, I would have instantly worried that he had been injured or kidnapped or… killed.

But this time it was different.

I don't know how I knew it, but I knew.

There were some clues in the past. The haunted look in his eyes, the way he constantly shifted nervously in my presence, the hesitancy to be in the same room as my demons… The clues were there, I had just ignored them.

I didn't want to know.

But then the demons shimmered into the room, bowing before me, and I looked up at them. They shifted their eyes away, unable to meet my gaze, and if I had not known before, I would have known then.

They knew, and they didn't want to tell me.

My demons were… and still are… afraid of my wrath.

But I needed to hear the words. I needed them to say it, to tell me exactly what had happened, because I couldn't… _wouldn't_… believe it until I had no other choice.

"Lord Wyatt…"

The title still sounds strange to me, I cannot quite be comfortable with what they call me. Granted, I have the power, and I am their Lord, but it still…

It still sounds wrong.

It's all about power, I remind myself. Power is all that matters, all that ever mattered. Power is what would have kept my family alive and together.

"It is Christopher. He's…"

They didn't finish the sentence. They didn't have to, I knew what they meant, but I still needed them to say it. I waited, knowing that sooner or later someone would start talking again.

"He's gone."

I waited for them to elaborate, and again, they averted their eyes from my gaze.

"He left with your father. He's in hiding now."

There it was, out in the open.

Chris had betrayed me.

* * *

When I was younger, perhaps ten or eleven, a demon attacked. It happened so frequently that I hardly thought anything of it at the time. I simply raised my shield to protect myself and let my mother and Aunt Paige take on the demons. I don't remember where Aunt Phoebe was, just that she was gone at the time. Aunt Paige and Mom were trying to vanquish the demons, but more kept coming, and they were outnumbered. Mom wanted Aunt Paige to orb to wherever Aunt Phoebe was, but Aunt Paige wouldn't leave Mom. 

It was chaos, which I guess explains why no one noticed Chris.

Until a demon grabbed him by the throat and prepared to strangle him. I don't even know how Chris appeared in the sunroom, because he hadn't been there before. But before I could understand what was happening, I had already dropped by shield and orbed an athame into my hand.

My mother screamed at me to put my shield back up as she fought her way towards Chris. She was also calling for my father, who orbed into the room right in the middle of all the chaos.

My parents could have rescued Chris. If he had been hurt, Dad would have healed him. I didn't _need_ to fight the demon.

But I wasn't thinking about any of that. I was thinking about the absolute terror reflected in my baby brother's eyes.

I tackled the demon.

Me, a ten- or eleven-year-old with very little actual fighting experience and nothing but an athame in one hand. I tackled the demon, and I pushed Chris out of the way, and I plunged the athame into my enemies heart and watched as he erupted into flames that eventually turned into nothing more than a pile of ash.

Somehow, my mother and Aunt Paige vanquished the other demons. Then my mother was hugging Chris and yelling at me about being stupid, and my father was frantically trying to check Chris for injuries and berating me for putting my life in danger, and Aunt Paige was whispering to Chris that he was safe now while sending me frustrated and annoyed glares.

I didn't care. I knew no one was really mad at me because I had, after all, just saved Chris' life. They were all just scared at how close Chris had come to death.

But even if they had really been angry at me, it wouldn't have made a difference. Because Chris looked up at me with his wide green eyes and said in an awestruck voice, "You saved me, Wy."

"Yeah," I agreed, my heart filling with pride at the look in his eyes. "That's what brothers do. They save each other."

That was when I first realized that rules—such as stay inside your force field bubble during an attack or always listen to Mom during a battle—don't matter when it's Chris in danger.

Chris. My brother.

Rules don't apply to him.

* * *

The demons left. They shimmered and blinked away, and I stood there in the silence of the room, thinking. 

I had the Book of Shadows open before me. I flipped through the pages.

Spell to Find a Lost Witch.

Blood to Blood spell.

Neither of those would work. If Chris had left with Dad, then Dad would have been sure to cloak his presence from me. I wouldn't be able to sense him, wouldn't be able to find him with spells, wouldn't be able to locate him by scrying.

I could write a spell. A spell to uncloak Chris. Or a spell to find Dad. Or…

How about a spell for permanently gaining control over wayward brothers?

* * *

When I was thirteen, I'd had some friends over after school. Chris, as usual, wanted to play with us. He was eleven and annoying. I didn't want to play with him, and I told him as much. But he always wanted to play with my friends. _Always_.

I did all the things older brothers do; I ditched him, I hid from him, I told him he was adopted, I told him I hated him, I ignored him. And I did the things that magical brothers do, such as orbing him over to Grandpa's house just to get him out of the way.

And, on a side note, that particular incident freaked Grandpa out so much I thought he was going to have a heart attack.

Still…

I was just being a big brother.

Anyway, this one time, he asked to play, and I said no. And he just left. He turned and walked away.

My friends and I were thrilled, but I couldn't help being worried about it. He had never given up so easily before.

That night, after my friends left, I asked him what he had done during the day.

His brilliantly descriptive and stunningly informative answer was… _stuff_.

He did stuff.

He was eleven. He was supposed to hero-worship me, not get all sullen.

But then he looked at me very seriously and said, "I'm sorry I asked to play with you guys today."

I was floored.

I literally sat down on the floor.

I think I managed to reply with a confused, "Huh?"

And Chris had just shrugged and said in a soft and slightly tearful voice, "I'm sorry."

"I don't… didn't you want to play with us?" I remember asking that. Really, I should have just been happy. Chris was sorry, and that meant he probably wouldn't annoy me anymore by constantly demanding to hang out with my friends.

But I was confused. I just wanted to understand his sudden change of heart.

"No," Chris had said quietly. "I want you to want to play with me."

It took me a long time to understand the sentence, and by the time I figured it out, Chris had already gotten up and left the room.

* * *

I didn't want Chris to be forced to side with me. I wanted Chris to want to side with me. 

I closed the Book.

I knew it was wrong.

I knew it was a mistake.

He needed to pay for betraying me. My demons expected it. Hell, Chris probably expected it. If he isn't with me, then he's against me, and I can't allow that.

But…

He's not just any witch.

He's Chris.

My brother.

I knew it was a mistake. I knew he needed to pay. I knew _I_ had to make him pay.

But I didn't. I _couldn't_.

I turned and walked away.

* * *

Next Chapter: Welcome to the Fallout 

Due: Sun 5/20


	14. Welcome to the Fallout

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: I never bought the whole "Leo is a horrible father" storyline. It comes pretty much out of nowhere because we are never given a reason to believe that Leo would do anything that bad to his family until Chris shows up. So my portrayal of Leo isn't going to be the more typical, he loves Wyatt more, type. Instead, I am going to try to give what I think is a more realistic explanation for why Chris thinks his father doesn't love him.

The lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are from the song _Dare You to Move_ by _Switchfoot_.

People of Importance:

Daivd and Lila: adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Kaia: A witch who works for Wyatt

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Welcome to the Fallout

_**Welcome to the fallout  
Welcome to resistance  
The tension is here  
The tension is here  
Between who you are and who you could be  
Between how it is and how it should be**_

"What's he doing here?"

The very first words Chris heard as his orbs relocated on the solid ground were harsh and unwelcoming. He blinked in the bright light, and turned to see who had spoken. Standing in front of him, arms folded across her chest, was a tall woman with long, light brown hair. She was wearing skimpy leather clothing and a deep green pendant, and her eyes were narrowed at Chris. Her entire demeanor radiated hostility.

"He's my son, Myst," Leo replied patiently, his hand tightening over Chris' wrist. "He's here because it is safe." Although his words were calm, they were underlined with steel.

Myst raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Safe? For who?" she demanded. Before Leo had a chance to answer, however, Myst turned and stalked away.

"She's gone to get Freya," Leo muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Chris. "I had hoped for some time before everyone knew you were here, but…" He turned and looked at Chris thoughtfully. "Come on," he said at last. "Let's go find Jason and your cousins."

"Where are we? What is this place?" Chris asked, trailing after his father. He glanced around, taking in the luscious green plants, the beautiful blue sky, the distant sound of rushing water. It looked almost like heaven on earth.

"Valhalla. Home of the Valkeries," Leo replied, shooting a quick look at Chris over his shoulder as he walked along the dirt path. "It's our sanctuary, for now."

"Sanctuary from Wyatt?" Chris asked. It was a rhetorical question, and he didn't really expect an answer. Leo didn't offer one, and for a moment, they were both quiet.

Then Leo paused abruptly, turning to look back the way they had come. Chris frowned and followed his father's gaze, not seeing anything. A minute later, however, a group of women, dressed similarly to Myst, came into view. They were being lead by a blonde woman, clearly the head of the group, and Chris surmised that she must be Freya.

"Leo. What's going on?" the blonde asked, her eyes moving over Chris with a calculating stare.

"I've brought Chris to safety, Freya," Leo said firmly, watching the Valkeries with some apprehension. He knew no one was going to be thrilled with Chris' arrival, but Freya would be the hardest to convince. She'd let him do almost anything he deemed necessary in the past, but they viewed Chris as a threat, and would this be one step too far?

"Really?" Freya asked, her voice dangerously soft. Next to her, Myst offered a smirk and slanted a look at Leo. Leo returned the stare coldly.

"Is he trustworthy?" one of the woman asked, flicking wild curls out of her dark eyes.

"Of course he is, Kyra," Leo replied quickly. "I wouldn't have brought him here otherwise."

"Enough," Freya cut into the conversation. "Leta, take Chris to his family," she ordered, and one of the women stepped forward to lead Chris away. "Leo and I will discuss this in private."

Chris wanted to object, how could they discuss his future without him present? But Leo didn't even glance at him, just shrugged and followed Freya away. The Valkeries instantly formed a barrier between him and his father, and he was forced to turn and follow Leta.

Once Leo was sure that he was out of Chris' earshot, he turned to Freya and said, "I understand that you think Chris is a threat to us. But I can't just leave him with Wyatt. At least now we have a chance of saving him… keeping him on our side."

"What if he isn't on our side, Leo?" Freya snapped irritably. "What if this is all a trap? Wyatt can get into Valhalla quite easily."

"The island protects itself and everyone in it," Leo pointed out. "Wyatt can't sense where Chris is, and even if he could, we can brew a potion to make sure that…"

"Make sure of what, Leo?" Freya cut in. She stopped walking and turned to look at Leo, giving him her full attention. "Even if you brewed a potion that severed their link as brothers, even if you prevented Wyatt from being able to ever sense Chris again, your youngest son could quite easily orb to Wyatt and give away our location."

"Chris wouldn't do that," Leo objected.

"How do you know?" Freya asked softly, trying to make Leo see reason. "Do you know anything about Chris at all?"

"I know he's my son," Leo snapped back, forcing himself to stay calm.

Freya gave him a sardonic smile. "So is Wyatt," she replied.

* * *

Leta, Chris soon discovered, was a very monosyllabic woman. 

"So, what exactly is this place?" Chris asked as he trudged behind her through the underbrush.

"Valhalla," Leta replied.

"Yes, I know. My father told me. What is Valhalla?" Chris pressed, watching as Leta's long red hair swung back and forth.

"Our home," Leta answered. She paused and glanced around her for a moment, then turned to the left. "Your family is this way," she announced, and lead Chris off along a winding dirt path. A waterfall came into view ahead of them.

"How do you know? Can you sense them?" Chris asked. He had tried to sense for Ria, Adam, and Prue when he first entered the island, but he hadn't been able to determine their location. He assumed that the island prevented that, somehow masking people's location.

Leta frowned at Chris. "I just know," she replied. But her expression seemed to indicate that something Chris said had bothered her, and she remained silent for a few moments.

Chris wondered how long they were going to walk. "How far away is my family?" he asked curiously. They drew level with the waterfall, and he saw a group of bright red and pink flowers blossoming near the edge of the pool. He couldn't remember when he had last seen flowers. It seemed like a long time ago.

"A ways," Leta answered his question without sparing him a glance.

"Where are they? What are they doing?" Chris asked. "Are they safe? Unhurt?"

"Yes," Leta replied. And she lapsed into silence once again.

They walked quietly until a clearing came into view. Chris paused, glancing around at the number of witches who were gathered here. There could have been a hundred of them, men, women and children of all ages. Scattered among the witches were other magical creatures and beings, all relaxed and happy in the relatively safe area. Two nymphs were playing in the stream, flicking water at each other and laughing in delight. A leprechaun was deep in conversation with a fairy, and a group of elves clustered around a young witch and her baby, making cooing sounds at the infant.

A silence fell over the group as all eyes turned towards Chris. He couldn't help but shiver at the acrimony in their gazes. Clearly, they knew who he was, and they harbored little love for him.

But then…

"Chris!"

Out of nowhere, Adam appeared, barreling at Chris and hugging him around the legs. His young face was filled such happiness, such brightness, that Chris couldn't help but smile. His eleven-year-old cousin was happy to see him, and he could only hope that the rest of his family was as well. He looked around, finally finding Ria, Prue, and Jason standing apart from the others, looking at him. Ria's expression was guarded, but she seemed happy enough to see him. Jason's face was unreadable, but when Chris met his eyes, he offered a faint smile.

Only Prue stared at him with unconcealed suspicion and resentment.

Chris looked down at Adam again. "Hey, kiddo," he greeted, giving his youngest cousin a hug. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Adam said seriously. "I've been a big boy and protected my sister and Prue from dangers here."

Chris fought to keep a straight face and replied, "I'm sure you have."

Jason, Ria, and Prue came to meet him, and the other witches began to drift away, fading into the trees. In the midst of all of this, Leta disappeared.

* * *

"We can't kick Chris out. Not while there is any chance that he is on our side," Leo argued vehemently, glaring in anger at Freya and Myst. The three of them were standing in the cave shelter at the center of the island, next to the large cage where new warriors were tested. Myst had reappeared only a few moments ago, and added her own concerns about Chris to the conversation. Leo knew he was outnumbered and clearly his opinion was in the minority. But he simply couldn't give up on his son. 

"Then what? I don't trust him enough to allow him to wander around the island unwatched," Freya replied. "He could too easily leave and report back to Wyatt."

"What do you want me to do? Bind his powers so he can't orb? Even if I agreed to do that, I wouldn't be able to. Not without the Power of Three," Leo pointed out.

"Then what?" Myst asked. "We have to prevent him from leaving the island. I won't allow him to stay here otherwise. He is a threat to us."

"And I believe the island agrees with your assessment," a new voice remarked, and the three turned to see Leta entering the cave. She turned her attention to Freya, and said simply, "Christopher was unable to sense his cousins' location when he arrived."

"You think the island is masking us from him?" Freya asked curiously. The magic of the island was what kept it concealed from enemies. However, should an enemy breach the safety barriers, the island then concealed it's inhabitants from the evil. Even if a demon were to enter Valhalla, it would not be able to sense where exactly the Valkeries were on the island, and they would have the upper hand in planning surprise attacks. The island had other tricks as well to keep it's inhabitants safe, and the magic that protected it was ancient and strong.

"The magic of this island responds to your emotions," Leo interceded. "It is probably simply picking up on your apprehension and acting accordingly."

"Or it knows something we don't," Leta pointed out, concern reflected in her eyes. It was quite possible that the magic of the island had sensed something about Chris, something the others did not know, and consequently did not fully trust him.

"Leta is right. I hardly think it is worth the risk, keeping him here," Myst pressed, tearing her gaze away from Leo and slanting a quick glance at the indecisive expression on Freya's face.

"That's not your decision," Leo snapped angrily. He was becoming quickly frustrated with the way the Valkeries were assuming they alone made all the decisions.

"You're right," Myst replied with a cold smile. "It's Freya's decision. It is, after all, her island."

Freya glanced from Leo to Myst, then back to the white-lighter. She drew a breath and released it slowly. Finally, she turned to Myst and Leta and said, "Leave us."

Myst stared at Freya, worry creasing her forehead. Was Freya going to tell Leo she trusted Chris? She was reluctant to leave the conversation, but she also couldn't blatantly ignore a direct order for her leader. She would simply have to trust that Freya knew what was best.

She turned and left the room, and Leta followed.

Freya watched her go, then turned to Leo. With a sigh, she said, "I am not so… close-minded… as several of my sisters. I understand and admire your desire to protect your family. But I also recognize that, whether you would chose to admit this or not, Chris may be a threat. And if he is not a threat to us, than maybe we are to him. There are many here who wish him ill, and would not hesitate to use force should they perceive him as dangerous."

Leo crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want me to do?" he demanded. "Lock Chris in the cage?" He gestured with one arm to the enchanted bamboo bars that enclosed the fighting ground next to them. "I refuse."

Freya shrugged. "He needs to be bound to this island. I will leave it in your hands to devise away of doing that. If, however, you are unable to come up with an idea by tonight, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands." She gave the cage a curious once-over and added softly, "Perhaps a cage is not a bad idea after all…"

"Don't you dare," Leo snarled. Freya gave him a look, and he sighed and said, "I can have Prue make a potion. Something that prevents Chris from orbing. That, at least, she should be able to do without the Power of Three. Then he wouldn't be able to leave the island, and there is no chance he could go back to Wyatt."

"But would he be able to summon Wyatt to us?" Freya asked, pointing out yet another way in which Chris was a threat.

* * *

"Welcome back, Chris," Ria said softly, staring at her cousin. She, Adam, and Jason were standing next to Chris and Prue underneath the canopy of gently rusting leaves near a reflecting pool. Adam was more interested in the surroundings than the others' conversation, and he continually let his attention wander to the butterflies and the flowers. Jason, although he had stayed reserved and quit throughout the entire meeting, still at least smiled at Chris, and hugged him, glad to see his nephew alive and well. Only Prue stayed fully withdrawn. She had yet to utter a single word to Chris, and the brunette witch-lighter was getting worried. 

"How have you all been?" Chris asked taking a seat on the ground.

"Alright, I guess," Ria answered as she knelt down next to him. "We missed you."

"I missed you guys too," Chris admitted. "I wanted to see you so badly, especially during the witch hunters' reign… I was afraid you'd be burnt at the stake." He looked down at his hands and sighed. "I'm glad you're alright."

"It was difficult, but we made it through," Jason commented. He was standing above Chris, leaning against a tree, his gaze directed towards his taciturn daughter.

"At least we don't have to worry about being burned at the stake," Chris remarked with a shudder. Having been cut off from his cousins, he had no way of knowing if they'd come close to be discovered at all. But he had been so worried…

It was a relief to see them alive and safe.

"Yes, now it's just Wyatt to worry about," Prue cut in sarcastically, speaking up for the first time. She gave Chris an accusatory glare, and opened her mouth to say something, but Jason cut her off.

"Prue…" He gave her a warning glare, then nodded towards Ria and Adam. She growled under her breath, but nodded. Realizing she would not be able to have this discussion with Chris as long as her two younger cousins were there, she turned and stalked away.

Chris stood up. "I should talk to her," he murmured. Jason accepted his statement with a shrug, and Chris set off after Prue.

He caught up to her after a few minutes, and reached out to grab her arm. She did something he never would have expected.

She turned around and hit him.

Across the face.

Hard.

He staggered backwards, raising a hand to his mouth and frowning at her in surprise and pain. He knew she was upset, but this was a little melodramatic, wasn't it? She'd actually _attacked_ him.

"What are you doing here?" Prue demanded.

"I…" Chris faltered, unsure of what to say. He didn't understand why she was reacting this way.

"You gave your whole sob story about wanting to come make sure we were all okay during the witch hunter attacks, but you didn't come, did you? And let me guess, it was because _Wyatt_ told you not to." Prue looked away in anger, and continued in a lower voice, "Dad almost got killed by demons, we barely escaped with our lives. We had to flee the witch hunters. Adam and Ria had to go into hiding in the _sewers_. I endured weeks of having the kids at my school taunt me, tell me that I was evil. And you… you left us. To be with Wyatt. Who happens to be the reason we are in this mess in the first place."

"He's my brother," Chris defended himself. "I couldn't just leave him."

"But it was okay to just leave us?" Prue asked softly, her voice filled with sorrow. She shook her head and sighed. "Chris, I am glad that you've finally seen the light and come back to us. But you have no idea what it has been like for us… because of Wyatt. And I can't… I can't just forgive you for leaving us."

"Has… has Wyatt hurt you?" Chris asked haltingly, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. He couldn't imagine Wyatt hurting anyone, but especially not his family.

Prue shook her head again. "No, not physically. It's just…" She paused, thinking how to best put everything into words. "You know what it used to be like to tell a good witch you were a Halliwell? How they respected you, were in awe of you?"

Chris nodded.

"Now, if you tell people who you are, they hate you. It's been so hard for us to be here, to try to get all the witches to accept us… Uncle Leo is the reason any of them our safe, the reason the Valkeries even allowed us here, and they just… treat him like… like dirt." She glanced back the way they had come. "Dad won't tell Ria and Adam what exactly Wyatt has done, and so they don't understand why people are so mean to them. They don't get it."

"But Uncle Jason told you?" Chris asked, silently thinking over what Prue had said about his father. It was hard to imagine Leo as a hero, hard to imagine him as anything except someone who was always walking away.

"I overheard an argument he had with Freya and demanded answers. He gave them to me…" She laughed bitterly. "A little more than I wanted to know."

"Is anyone here nice to you?" Chris asked finally. He still couldn't quite comprehend why everyone thought Wyatt was so evil. He had saved the world from the witch hunters, hadn't he? And yes, Chris knew his brother was changing, and yes, Chris disagreed with many of the things he did. He knew he had to leave while he still had the chance. But even so… he loved Wyatt. And here everyone, including Prue, spoke of Wyatt as though he was the next… the next Source.

Wyatt would never turn that evil, would he?

"Some are nice," Prue answered honestly. "The Valkeries are begrudgingly nice to us because they respect Uncle Leo. Freya, especially. I think he might be the only person whose opinion cares about as much as her own. And some of the witches. David and Lila, especially…"

"Oh!" Chris cried, suddenly remembering. He turned to Prue, eyes wide. "Before I left… the reason, I left… Wyatt had captured a witch. His name was David." He gave a quick description of the stranger he had seen, as well as the young witch who had brought him in. Prue's eyes widened in dismay as he explained what had happened.

"Was he alive when you left?" Prue demanded, and Chris nodded.

"I need to find Lila," Prue said, and without another word, she disappeared, hurrying into the trees.

Chris watched her go glumly. The would run off with so much worry and fear over a stranger she'd only known for a few a days, but him… She barely even wanted to see him. This was not the homecoming he had wanted.

He began to wander, letting his feet guide him through the island. He wasn't sure how long he walked, or where he went, or who he passed. No one spoke to him, which he decided abruptly was probably for the best, seeing as they most likely all hated him.

Eventually, he found himself outside a cave-like shelter. Creeping forward silently, he heard the rise and fall of voices, which he identified as his father and the leader of the Valkeries… what was her name, again? Freya?

He inched forward, trying to stay hidden, but wanting to overhear the conversation.

"…can have Prue make a potion," Leo was saying. "Something that prevents Chris from orbing. That, at least, she should be able to do without the Power of Three. Then he wouldn't be able to leave the island, and there is no chance he could go back to Wyatt."

"But would he be able to summon Wyatt to us?" Freya's voice asked in concern.

"I can't bind his powers, so… Yes. he would be able to." There was a silence, then Leo continued, "It might work if we put a barrier around the who island. No one can get in or out without one of your necklaces."

"That takes an awful lot of magic," Freya countered, clearly concerned.

"Well, if you are worried about Chris summoning Wyatt…" Leo paused for a moment, then continued, "Even if you put Chris in a cage, he'd have the power to summon Wyatt."

Put him in a cage? Chris frowned, not liking the sound of that. Did Leo really distrust him that much that he would suggest the idea? He clearly had no problems stripping Chris' ability to orb, and by the sounds of it, he would have bound all of Chris' powers if he'd had the means to do it.

Why bring him here if he wasn't going to be trusted? Was this what Leo had intended to do all along? Treat him like the enemy, like a prisoner of war?

"We have that power. We have a lot of good magic here," Leo pointed out. There was another silence, in which Chris assumed that Freya was considering Leo's words.

The young witch-lighter remembered suddenly what Prue had said before about Freya trusting Leo, valuing his opinion. Well, if the white-lighter thought his son was a threat, Freya would certainly be swayed to thinking the same. Chris would be as good as a prisoner then.

Anger got the better of him, and he stormed into the cave. "Put me in a cage?" he scowled, his voice rising in volume as Leo and Freya both turned to look at him. He glared at his father. "Is that all I am to you? Another threat to be eliminated? Someone to be kept under lock and key?" He looked around the shelter he had walked into, and saw the large cage. His face paled as he realized that there actually was a cage here, a place someone could keep him. It hadn't just been theoretical planning…

"No, Chris, I…" Leo began, but Freya cut him off.

"We are concerned, and we have good reason to be. You've proven in the past your loyalty is to your brother above all others."

Leo glared at Freya, but he couldn't deny the truth in her words. And neither could Chris. After all, Chris had admitted to helping Wyatt lie about what exactly happened to Nathaniel Pratt. Chris had repeatedly refused to listen to his father's warnings about Wyatt. Chris had decided he didn't care what Wyatt had done to Anya Lakin.

He had chosen Wyatt, over and over.

"He's my brother," Chris snarled. He glanced over at Leo and added accusingly, "And he's your son."

"And we intend to save him," Leo said firmly, although he knew Freya had entertained the idea of just killing the Twice Blessed. She wouldn't do it, not yet anyway, but still…

"You're exactly like the Elders, aren't you?" Chris asked, eyes filling with cold realization. "Your way of saving him is to do what they did, to lock him in a cage and try to strip his powers, take away his heritage. Is that what you wanted to do to me, _Dad_? Is that how you planned to save me?"

And without another word, he turned and stormed out of the cave.

Leo watched him go, wanting to run to him, wanting to tell him that he was wrong, that he'd miss interpreted what he'd heard. Leo never wanted to lock him in a cage, never thought he was a threat. It had been the Valkeries, and he had just…

Just what? Stood there and let Myst and Leta imply that the island didn't trust Chris? Stood there and let Freya request that Chris be stripped of his powers or locked away?

"You could talk to him," Freya said gently, correctly interpreting the look on Leo's face. "Tell him the truth, that you don't distrust him." She placed a hand on Leo's shoulder and added, "I'll talk to him if you think he'll believe me more."

Leo looked at her contemplatively, weighing his options. Freya might not trust Chris, but she understood that he was important to Leo. And she was willing to accept that. But Chris… would Chris ever think anything but the worst of Leo? It was hard to know…

And he just didn't know what to do anymore.

* * *

Next Chapter: The Birth of the Resistance 

Due Date: Thurs 5/24


	15. The Birth of the Resistance

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So this chapter will finish the explanation for why, during season six, Chris thought Leo didn't care about him as much as he cared about everyone else. Once again, new characters are listed in the section below.

* * *

People of Importance: 

Daivd and Lila: adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Leta: One of the Valkeries. She's the only one we've met so far that I made up, all the others are mentioned on the show and therefore do not belong to me.

Grishom: A male witch and a member of the Resistance.

Kaia: A witch who works for Wyatt.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: The Birth of the Resistance

"He doesn't know the full story, Leo. If you just told him…"

"He wouldn't believe me, Jason. He thinks I'm a horrible father. He thinks I care more about the world than my family. He just… Chris will never understand. He's too close to Wyatt to see that stripping Wyatt's powers would have been for the best."

"And you're just going to let him believe that you intended to trap him on this island as well? You aren't going to at least attempt to explain?"

"Do you think it would make a difference? Do you think he would listen to anything I said?"

"He might."

"No, he won't. Jason, he still doesn't fully believe that Wyatt's changed. He's seen it with his own eyes and he… He just can't accept it all yet. This is something I can just tell him. He needs to see it. He needs to truly understand, or he'll…"

"He'll what? Be a threat to us? What do you want to do, Leo? How do you want to fix this?"

"I don't know…"

* * *

"We can't leave David," Lila said in frustration, pacing back and forth across the dirt ground of the training area. Prue had just informed her of what Chris had seen, and she'd quickly raised the alarm. But even with the Valkeries there, she still hadn't been able to come up with a plan. David was her best friend, she couldn't do nothing while Wyatt had him… 

"We can't get into his stronghold," a man said, glancing over at Lila. "We don't have that kind of power. It's just… too risky." He was old and wizened, his face covered with lines, his hair speckled with gray. His entire body seemed to exude wisdom coupled with experience and caution.

"But we have power. And a lot of it," Lila argued, gesturing to the magical and mystical beings who had gathered around to here the conversation. "Between everyone here, we should be able to…"

"The Valkeries can't help us," the man interrupted. He eyed the warrior women thoughtfully, then added, "The only reason Wyatt doesn't know that we are on Valhalla is because the Valkeries haven't gotten involved. If they suddenly attack him, he's going to put two and two together. He'll find us."

"Grishom is right," one of the Valkeries spoke up, nodding to the make witch. "If we get involved, you will no longer be safe."

"So we do it without the Valkeries," Lila pressed. "We still have enough magic here to…"

"To wage a war?" Grishom asked in a low voice. "To attack? To face a high mortality rate?" Lila glared at him, but he continued firmly, "That's not what David would want, and you know it."

"We can't just leave him," Lila protested, but the others looked at her in silence, unable to support her opinion. Lila bit her lip to keep control over her panic and looked away. Prue was standing behind her, listening to the exchange, and she could only shrug helplessly. The others were right, David wouldn't want them to risk numerous lives just to save him.

"There is another possibility," a voice said, and all eyes turned to see Freya emerging from the crowd. She glanced at the others and explained, "So far, we have been fighting Wyatt's rule by simply bringing people to safety here. We haven't openly fought him or his demons, we haven't declared this a battle." She lifted her eyes to Lila and said, "Unfortunately, we may no longer have this option."

"What are you saying?" a witch asked, moving forward. Behind her, a nymph echoed the question, her gentle eyes wide. Apprehension was moving quickly through the crowd.

"I'm saying, maybe we should face the reality of the situation. Whether we like it or not, Wyatt has declared war against everything we hold dear. Perhaps it is time we fight back." Freya's words carried over the crowd, floating in the air. "Our first strike against Wyatt, our declaration of war, could be rescuing David."

Lila felt hope grow within her chest, but it was damped slightly by the stark realization that they were about to start an all-out war in the magical community. She pushed the thought aside, however, and focused instead of her desire to save David.

"War…?" a nymph breathed, shaking her head, streams of blondish brown hair blowing in the wind.

"Yes, war," Freya agreed.

"But then Wyatt will know where we are," Grishom countered logically. "What's to keep him from attacking us right here?"

Freya searched the crowd until she spotted Myst. Offering the other woman a smile that conveyed information only the two seemed to understand, she said, "We can put up a barrier around the island. Prevent anyone from orbing in or out. Wyatt won't be able to reach us. No one will be able to reach us without one of our pendants." She touched the green stone on the cord around her throat.

"If we cross this line, we will never be able to go back," another voice called out from the crowd.

"What is there left to go back to?" Grishom snorted. "Is this the world you want to pass to your children?"

A collective murmuring of no's rustled through the crowd. Freya inclined her head to him, accepting the truth of his words. Even the fun-loving nymphs who cared little about the outside world were willing to fight for a better world.

"So this is it? We try to kill Wyatt Halliwell?"

"No," Prue said instantly, stepping forward and joining the conversation for the first time. All eyes turned to her, some accusatory, some filled with suspicion. She looked back at them, unwavering, and persisted, "Not because you shouldn't. Because you _can't_. Wyatt is too strong for all of you, and going up against him is suicide. We take out his demons, but our only hope of stopping him is to save him."

"He's past saving," Grishom said. Prue opened her mouth to argue, but the old man raised a hand, forestalling her arguments. "As you say, it is suicide to fight him. But the only way to save him would be to get close enough to him to remove the source of his corruption. His power. And isn't that suicide as well?"

Prue didn't answer, unsure what to say.

"Leo, Jason, and the other Halliwells will continue in their attempts to save Wyatt," Freya cut in. "The rest of us should focus on stopping him. Both attempts may be futile, both may be suicide. But what other choice do we have?"

"So is this it? The beginning of war?" Myst asked, her mystical voice causing a silence to fall over everyone.

"We must discuss it with everyone because this decision will affect everyone," Lila said. "They must all know that once we do this…" She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. They all knew what she meant.

Once they did this, there would be no turning back.

* * *

Chris didn't know what he was doing. He was running, trying to get away, trying to find somewhere else to be, somewhere where his father didn't think he was going to betray them all, where Prue didn't hate him, where… 

Where life was like it was supposed to be.

He didn't realize what he was doing until the orbs consumed his body, transporting him away. A moment later, he reformed in the middle of the street outside the Manor in broad daylight, and almost expected to hear his mother's voice crying out warnings about exposure.

But his mother was dead, and the rest of his family as well.

He glanced around for a moment, debating his choices. He hadn't meant to leave Valhalla, but now that he was out, did he want to go back? He scuffed the sidewalk with his shoe, frustrated and confused.

A kid was playing in her yard, digging holes in the grass with a stick. She had looked up when Chris appeared, but barely even blinked at the sight of the orbs. She was young, and although it had only been a few short weeks since magic was first exposed, she had adapted easily to the fact that magic existed.

An elderly couple who had been out for a walk had also witnessed Chris' abrupt appearance. They had been a little more concerned by his use of magic, wondering if he was good or evil. But, with the kind of wisdom that comes only from old age and years of experience in the world, they soon recognized the forlorn slump of the shoulders and the lost look in the eyes as signs of a child in distress, not some evil to be feared.

Still, magic was too new to them, and they did not approach Chris to offer their services. Instead, the employed the age-old mantra… if we don't bother him, he won't bother us.

Only one person saw him and seemed disturbed by what she had witnessed. One of Chris neighbors, although he couldn't quite recall her name, was out in her garden, pulling weeds. The moment he appeared, she jump to her feet and hurried inside, slamming the door tightly behind her, as though the extra wood would somehow protect her from a person who had the ability to magic transport himself through space.

Chris rubbed the back of his head and wondered what to do.

Nothing was the same anymore, nothing was like he remembered.

How had he not seen it before? The sounds were muted, softer. The smells seemed sharper, more acrid. Even the air felt different. This was not the world he had grown up in.

He wanted to go home, wanted to return to the warmth of his family house. But one quick glance up at the Manor and he knew that was not an option.

It was a museum now.

It was late in the day, the sun would be setting soon, and so the museum was closed. He could only imagine what kind of disaster might have occurred had he'd orbed into the street while the museum was still open. So many tourists would have seen him… there might have been a riot… and Wyatt would have come…

Wyatt.

His brother.

His brother who, for the first time in his entire life, he was purposefully blocking his signal from.

He wasn't even sure why he was doing this, he wasn't sure if he believed his father. Wyatt was definitely changed, but still… It was so easy to fall under his spell, to believe what he was preaching. Wyatt was his brother, Wyatt only wanted to protect him…

Wyatt _trusted_ him.

Or, at least, he did. Would he anymore? Probably not. Was there anyone left who trusted him? Anyone who he could call family?

He sighed and closed his eyes, orbing to the only place he could think of, the only place he knew he'd be safe.

* * *

Freya stood on a small rock outcropping, surrounded by her Valkeries. A waterfall flooded a deep lake behind her, and the wind that whipped through her hair rustled the leaves of the trees as well. Witches stared up at her, clumped together in apprehensive groups. Nymphs, ogres, fairies, dwarves, leprechauns, elves, satyrs, oracles, seers and soothsayers, and gypsies scattered about, whispering amongst themselves. Everyone gave Freya their full attention, recognizing the gravity of what she was asking. 

"He has power, he has strength. He has demons who do his bidding, mortals who side with him. He is the Twice Blessed, then next King Arthur, the wielder of Excalibur, the prophesized child. The blood of the Charmed Ones, the Halliwells, the line of Melinda Warren flows in his veins. He may very well be to great for us to fight."

Prue and Lila were among the witches gathered in the center of the crowd. Adam and Ria stood next to Prue. She had briefly filled them in on everything that had happened, explained why people viewed Wyatt as a threat. They had not understood, their eyes filled with tears and denial. But Prue forced herself to tell them anyway, and to bring them to this meeting, no matter how much it hurt them. She and her father couldn't keep the truth from them forever.

"I understand why many of you may be wary of our proposal. You are afraid, and with good reason. I will not lie, I will not offer false hope or comfort. Wyatt Halliwell is the strongest magical being the world has seen in a long time… perhaps ever."

In the very back of the crowd, Jason observed quietly. He knew that the magical community would decide to go to war, to start a Resistance. When Freya spoke, people listened. He could just see Prue, Ria, and Adam, standing further up, huddled together. He wanted to be there with them, guiding them, but he knew that this was something they had to do separately. They had to make their own decision whether or not to join in the fight. He couldn't make it for them.

"But what he threatens is what we hold most dear. Our beings, our history, our future. Our society, our community. Our very way of life," Freya continued. "How can we let this go? How can we not challenge what he is doing to us? I know that many of us may not survive the upcoming war, but isn't this a cause worth fighting for?"

Leo had not come to the meeting. He refused. He understood why they had to do this, why Freya had to found a Resistance. But no matter what, Wyatt was still his son, and how was he supposed to accept all this?

He wandered the island, listening to the brief bits of Freya's speech that floated to him through the otherwise silent air, and prayed for a solution to these problems.

* * *

"You want some milk with your tea?" Daryl asked as he moved slowly towards the kitchen table. 

"No, thank you," Chris replied, watching his friend in concern. Like as a police officer had taken it's toll on Daryl, and he moved stiffly, his sore muscles protesting with every step.

He still managed a smile for Chris and scolded, "Don't look at me with so much pity, Christopher. I may be older than you, and just a mere mortal, but I am quite capable of getting around on my own." He set a cup of tea in front of Chris and asked, "So, what can I help you with, Chris?"

Chris glanced at Daryl, wondering what to say. He'd orbed into the man's living room without a second thought, needing to find some place safe to think. The older man had first been surprised, and then suspicious, but he'd allowed Chris' presence anyway.

It was the suspicion that had so briefly reflected in Daryl's eyes that was bothering Chris now.

"Why were you suspicious of me?" Chris said at last, taking a sip of his tea.

Daryl raised an eyebrow, not entirely expecting that question. He'd have assumed that Chris knew exactly why any mortal would be suspicious of witches and demons and magic. The world had been irrevocably changed, and nothing was as it used to be.

But, he wasn't any mortal, was he? He was a friend of the Halliwells, someone who had known about magic for a very long time. And this was Chris, a boy he had watched grow up, a boy he had always considered part of his extended family. What reason did he have to be suspicious of Chris?

Or, as someone who understood more about the magical world than a normal mortal, did he have more of a reason to be suspicious of Chris?

Finally, he sighed and explained, "Most of us mortals, we don't understand much about magic. We see this new world created by your brother, and we assume that magic has always worked this way. We don't realize that there is a difference between witches and demons. And so, these strange happenings, we take it for granted that this is the way your world has always worked, and the only difference is that now we are a part of it. We are not happy about it, and I don't doubt that pretty soon most of us will start fighting against it, but… there is still so much we don't understand."

"But you do," Chris protested.

"Yes, I do," Daryl said heavily. "Which is why I can't understand how this could have happened. How Wyatt could have become a ruler, an overlord."

"He's just trying to save us," Chris murmured, but the defense seemed weak in light of everything he now knew.

Daryl shrugged. "Maybe," he agreed. "I don't make any judgments on what he is doing or his reasons for it. I merely think that it is not what the Halliwell family would have done in the past." He folded his arms over his chest. "That is where the suspicion comes from."

"They think Wyatt is evil. My Dad, Uncle Jason, Prue… And Dad and Prue think I am evil also," he muttered, shaking his head.

"What do you think?" Daryl asked gently, placing a hand on Chris' arm. "Forget everyone else. Tell me, what do you think?"

Chris closed his eyes and pushed away the sight of Wyatt's face as he glared at that witch… David, was it? He tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach when he recalled Prue's angry words, and forced away the fury that flooded through him when he thought of Leo's suspicions. Instead, he remembered something else, a distant memory of his mother's gentle face as she sung a lullaby to him when he was just a toddler.

And then he remembered her blood-splattered body, her whispered final words.

_Love you…_

He looked up at Daryl, understanding shining in his jade eyes, turning them a dark forest green. "I think, had I been Wyatt, I also would have done everything necessary to save my family." He stood abruptly, placing the teacup back on the table. "I'm not Wyatt, but I'm still a Halliwell. And I'd still do anything to protect my family." He smiled at Daryl, said a quick thank you, and orbed away.

* * *

"Well, they agreed to a resistance." 

Leo looked up at Jason and nodded. "I knew they would," he replied with a nonchalant shrug, attempting to appear unconcerned at this news. After all, he'd seen it coming, known it would happen, so shouldn't he have been prepared?

Jason gave him a look that clearly showed how little he believed Leo's collected attitude. Still, he continued as though Leo really was able to think clearly about this issue. "The Valkeries will place a magical barrier around the island. Wyatt and his demons will not be able to get to us here."

"Are they going after David?" Leo asked curiously. The black-haired witch had not been a particular favorite of Leo's, his abrasive manner always rubbed the white-lighter the wrong way. But he could not deny that David had been one of the few people willing to accept the Halliwells in spite of everything of that had happened, and he owed the witch a debt of gratitude for his kindness to Prue, Ria, and Adam.

"Yes," Jason said slowly. "It will be a surprise attack, and hopefully that will be enough to get David out without any difficulties. We are not prepared to face Wyatt in a full out battle."

"I hope it never comes to that," Leo whispered, and Jason nodded his head in agreement. Then the white-lighter frowned and asked, "What about the mortals?"

Jason creased his forehead in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, perplexed by the sudden change in subject.

"Wyatt has introduced magic into the world, and defeated the witch hunters. But he has made no other intrusions into the mortal world. If we start to fight him, it is inevitable that some of the mortals will be drawn into this battle. It is no longer just a magical fight that can be kept out of public attention."

Jason considered this thoughtfully. It was true, Wyatt had infringed very little on the mortal world. Only witches were registered, mortals were left to do whatever they wanted. Sure, magic had been exposed and the Manor was now a museum, but Wyatt did not attempt to rule the non-magical world.

Yet.

How would this knew war affect everyone else?

Before he had a chance to think about this any longer, however, Leta appeared, long red hair flowing around her face. She was wearing a worried expression, and her eyes lit up as she stumbled across Jason and Leo.

"I've been looking for you," she announced.

"Is the barrier up?" Jason asked. "Have they gone after David yet?"

"Some of the witches and Valkeries left to find David," Leta replied with a nod. "The rest of the magical creatures are putting up the barriers as we speak. Our plan is to have them up in time to protect us from Wyatt's retribution if we manage to escape with David."

"So that's good," Jason asked, wondering why Leta seemed so worried. "I mean… everything's going according to plan."

"Not quite," Leta said. She turned accusatory eyes to Leo. "You told us Chris wouldn't be a threat," she hissed.

"I…" Leo didn't know what to say. He didn't think Chris would be a threat, but had he been wrong? Had Chris done something?

"He's gone," Leta snarled. "We can't sense him anymore. Even Freya can't find him." She glowered at Leo for a moment, waiting until realization sunk in. Then she finished, "He's left the island."

* * *

Chris appeared in the middle of fight. It was not what he had expected. As he was outside of Valhalla, he knew that he wouldn't be able to sense any of his family members. Having no way of getting back to the island, he did the next best thing he could think of. 

He'd orbed to Wyatt.

Rather, he'd orbed to Wyatt's skyscraper fortress. He didn't know where David would be, or if David was even alive. But he knew the basics of the skyscraper, and he'd been to almost every floor. If anyone could get in, find David, and get out, it would be him.

So he was more than a little surprised when he found himself watching a demon and a witch fight each other in the middle of the third floor.

The witch, he recognized instantly as someone he had seen at Valhalla. He didn't know who she was, but that didn't matter, she had to be a friend. The demon was only a lower-level demon, probably one who was supposed to guard the hallway. The two were exchanging rapid blows, but the witch was clearly winning.

Chris' appearance distracted the demon long enough for the witch to take full advantage of her upper-hand, and she vanquished him with a well placed throw of her athame. Then she turned to Chris, eyes narrowed slightly.

"Christopher Halliwell," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Who are you?" Chris asked.

The witch shoved red hair out of her eyes and frowned slightly. "Lila," she said at last, her voice still filled with suspicion. "And I may not be a Halliwell, but I am still a good fighter, so if you're here to stop me, I'll warn you now, I'm not going down without a fight."

Lila, Chris remembered, was the person Prue had rushed off to warn about David's disappearance. Obviously, she must be friends with the other witch. Had she broken into the skyscraper all by herself, or had others come with her?

He let his senses spread out, and soon felt the presence of others. Several Valkeries and a few witches. Well, that explained how they had entered the skyscraper. Wyatt had made it so that only he and those he trusted could magically enter or leave the place. But he would not have thought of protecting against the Valkeries' pendants.

Chris felt a slight twinge of remorse as he realized that Wyatt still had not blocked the fortress to him. Chris was able to enter and leave without any problems, and that meant that Wyatt did not believe Chris would be a threat. He must have assumed that, even though his little brother left, the younger witch-lighter still wouldn't actively work against him.

But this was no time for doubts. He had made a decision, and he was going to stick by it.

Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Lila's arm, and orbed the two of them away. Lila attempted to pull away from him, but she was not fast enough, and they'd already burst into dots of white light before she realized what had happened.

They reappeared in a stairway. It was dimly lit, a faint yellow glow reflecting off the stone surface. The door to their right was marked with a large number 4, painted in thick black paint.

Chris dropped Lila's arm and moved away from her. She raised her hands, prepared to attack, but Chris was already speaking. "I've been thinking. The fifth floor is the only floor in this building Wyatt never let me go to. It's also the only one that's blocked from all magical entry or exit. David must be there." He glanced up the stairs, and Lila hesitated in her attack. "There will be some kind of magical barrier there, at the top of this flight of stairs, but it won't be that strong. Wyatt didn't expect this attack, so he won't be prepared for it."

"Why are you helping us?" Lila asked, not entirely sure she should trust Chris.

Chris didn't answer the question. "Wyatt will have sensed that you are here. He knows what you are after. Sooner or later, he's going to go to that floor to make sure David doesn't escape. You need to get to David before Wyatt does, because you will stand no chance against my brother."

Lila nodded and swallowed. She did not relish the idea of facing the Twice Blessed Child.

"Once you have David, find the rest of your friends and get out of here. I'm going to Wyatt, and I'll hold him off for as long as possible, but I don't know how long that will actually be. You might not have that much time." Chris stared at Lila for one last moment, then said, "Good luck." And he was gone in a swirl or white and blue orbs.

Lila turned and looked up the stairs. She didn't know if they could trust Chris, but she knew that he was right about one thing. If they didn't get David out before Wyatt found them all, they wouldn't succeed at this. Which meant they were running out of time.

Praying she was making the right decision, she raced up the stairs to the fifth floor. As Chris had predicted, a weak energy barrier barred her entrance. She focused her power and sent wave after wave of energy towards the barrier. It was exhausting, and she realized with dismay that if this was what Wyatt considered a weak barrier, he really was as powerful as everyone said.

Finally, the barrier crumbled and she yanked open the door and raced through.

* * *

Wyatt was livid. How dare these people invade his home and attack him? He'd felt their presence almost immediately, but then they'd split off into groups, each going to different floors, and he hadn't been sure who the leader was, and who he should face first. 

It was a good plan, he realized. A surprise attack were no one stayed together so that he would have a hard time finding them all…

He strode from his room and into the hallway, calling out for his demons. Once he took care of this problem, he would have to remember to protect the building against the Valkeries.

And then he would take a little trip to Valhalla and speak to their leader…

"Find the attackers and bring them to me," Wyatt ordered. "I do not want them killed," he added, although he knew several of these witches probably would not give in until they were dead. It was a risk he would take, however, because it was them who had attacked him. He was only protecting himself and what was his.

The demons bowed and shimmered away, and Wyatt sighed. He knew what they were after. Sooner or later they would discover the fifth floor and the witches there… But Wyatt wasn't about to give up his prisoners without a fight.

_If it is a war my father wants_, Wyatt thought savagely, _then it is a war he will get_.

And then he felt the abrupt appearance of the familiar presence, and turned slowly to face the person he most wanted to see.

"Hello, Wy," Chris said quietly, staring at his brother.

"Are you here to fight me? Has our father corrupted you so much that you would kill your own brother?" Wyatt asked coldly, his face twisted into a sneer.

Chris laughed. "No. Leo thinks I haven't really left you. He thinks I'm just a spy. A threat." The bitterness dripped from his voice. "As for corruption…" He trailed of and shrugged. "I'm not the one commanding demons to attack witches."

Wyatt flushed crimson red at the implied accusation. "They attacked me," he snarled. "Don't you see, Chris? Dad is starting this war, not me. Dad is the reason this fight is happening."

"No, Wyatt. I used to think Dad was responsible for all this, but I don't anymore. I know the truth. You are the reason this fight is happening. You started it when you kidnapped David."

Wyatt rolled his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that Chris. If it's what you need to believe…" Then his expression softened. "Come back with me. Come home." He could sense the intrusion on the fifth floor, knew the others were close to being found. If he wanted to stop this, he needed to act now. But he didn't want to just leave Chris. He didn't want to give up yet. Not if there was any chance he could make his brother understand.

Or had he already lost?

Chris flung out his hand, telekinetically shoving Wyatt against the wall and using his powers to hold his brother there. Wyatt, being by far the stronger of the two, would break out of the grip in only a moment, but Chris knew that if he put all his energy into this, he might by Lila enough time.

Wyatt managed to flick his wrist, and the wall behind Chris exploded, causing the brunette to fall to knew knees and roll away from the falling debris. Despite this, he refused to let go of his hold on Wyatt. It wavered slightly, and Wyatt used that to free himself enough to send a wave of energy towards Chris. But he still felt the pressure forcing him back.

Chris had always had amazing control over his telekinesis. Even better than Wyatt. Any other witch would have given up by now, but Chris hung on, even as the energy wave sent him careening into the floor. He hit his head, and winced in pain.

Wyatt saw the expression in Chris' eyes, the defocused look that signaled an injury, and shoved through Chris' powers. Once free, he hurried to Chris' side, automatically extending his hands to heal his little brother, forgetting for the moment that he was the cause of the pain. The golden glow seeped from his fingers, and Chris felt the ache subside.

And then realization hit them both, and they realized they were on opposite sides of this fight. They stayed like that for a moment, Chris sprawled on the floor, Wyatt kneeling at his side, staring at each other in confusion and sorrow. The scattered bits of stone from the wall lay around them, crumbled debris a testament to the fight that had just happened.

"Aren't you going to bind my powers?" Chris asked at last, pushing away from Wyatt and standing up. He rocked slightly unsteadily on his feet, and Wyatt stood up as well, pushing back the urge to reach out and steady his brother.

"What do you mean?" the blonde asked.

Chris laughed softly. "You must have looked up a spell for that after I left. In case you ever saw me again." He stared at Wyatt, a slight smile playing around his lips. "We're brothers, Wy. I _know_ you. I know you memorized that spell."

"Why are you fighting me, Chris?" Wyatt asked despondently.

"Because you once told me that we were family. And family members protect each other. _Always_. Do you remember that, Wy? Do you remember telling me that?" Chris whispered.

Wyatt nodded. It was after he'd erased Anya Lakin's memory, after he'd argued with his grandfather about the validity of his actions. When he'd explained to Chris why he would never let anyone hurt any of his family…

Without warning, Chris sent Wyatt flying through the air with such force that the Twice Blessed crashed into the wall, momentarily stunned.

"There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do for you, Wyatt. And that's why I am doing this." And he orbed away.

* * *

"We have to go," Myst said, glancing around frantically. They'd all met up again as agreed, and Lila had with her both David and a few other witches that Wyatt had captured, witches who refused to be registered. Two of their own had been killed, but everyone else was there and accounted for, and if they didn't leave soon, Wyatt would find them, and it would be a massacre. 

"No," Lila said firmly. "Not yet. Just… wait."

Myst was about to argue, when the jingle or orbs signaled a white-lighter's appearance. Expecting Wyatt, Myst prepared herself to fight, pressing down on her pendant as she did so. She would hold off Wyatt for as long as she could, long enough for the others to escape. She only hoped they wouldn't all die.

But it was not Wyatt.

It was Chris.

Lila looked at him, then turned to Myst. "Let's go."

Myst raised an eyebrow as though to ask Lila is Chris was really the reason they had all waited. But Lila just stared back at her coldly, and Myst gestured for everyone to proceed her through the portal.

* * *

"He's the one who led me to David and the others," Lila said firmly, facing the gathered Valkeries. Her eyes were fixed solely on Freya. "He held off Wyatt. Without him, we would have been there so much longer. Without him, the casualty rate would have been higher." 

Freya nodded, accepting Lila's words. They had returned safely to Valhalla, and the barrier had been placed around the island. They were as well protected here as they would ever be. The plan had worked much better than anyone had hoped.

And Lila was now vouching for Chris.

They were gathered together in a small clearing next to the training ground. Freya glanced over to where Chris was standing, talking quietly to Grishom. She knew the old witch was trying his best to determine if Chris was a threat or not. His empathic powers could only tell him so much, however, and Chris could be good at hiding his true intentions.

"At the very least," Lila continued, "he deserves a chance."

"Christopher," Freya called out. Chris turned and looked at her, then quickly moved towards the Valkeries. Out of the corner of her eye, Freya saw Leo and Jason draw nearer as well, clearly wanting to know what she was going to say.

She glanced at Grishom, and he gave a slight nod of his head. So far, he had not sensed anything from Chris that would give him reason to worry about the witch-lighter's presence here.

"Tell me, Chris, why did you help us rescue David?" Freya asked.

Chris stared at Freya, wondering exactly what he should say. He could lie and say that he had seen the light, that Wyatt was evil, and he wanted to fight to save the world. He could lie and say that David was an innocent, and he wanted to save innocents.

Or he could tell the truth.

He opted for the latter option.

"It wasn't about David," he said slowly, carefully putting his thoughts into words. "It wasn't about you or the Valkeries or the magical world. For me, it always was and always will be about Wyatt." He turned, his eyes scanning the crowd until he found Prue. Addressing his next words to her, he said, "I may have been blind about many things, but I was never blind about how important Wyatt is to me. He tried to avenge Mom and Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe. He tried to keep the family together. Because he said that family always comes first, that family always protects each other. He was right about that, family members do protect each other. And the only way to protect Wyatt, is to fight him."

Prue looked at him for a long time, before offering a small nod, the closest she could come to forgiveness right now.

Chris turned back to Freya. "He's still my brother. And there is still good in him. If there is anyway to save him, I will find it. But he can't be saved if he destroys us all first. So I'll fight him. I'll keep him from ruining this world. I'll do whatever is necessary to keep him from becoming too far gone, from becoming past redemption."

Freya considered his words. He was honest, and she knew how much honesty counted. And Lila had vouched for him. As had Leo and, to a lesser extent, Jason. He could be an asset. His passion and ardor for saving Wyatt would make him stronger than any other witch here. It would keep him from ever giving up.

"Welcome to the Resistance, Chris," she said at last.

Chris smiled, but before he could say anything, he caught sight of Leo, moving backwards into the trees. He spun around and glared at his father. "Does that decision upset you so much that you have to leave?" he asked angrily.

"Chris, he…" Freya began, but Leo cut her off.

"I have things to do, Chris. Of course I am glad you are one of us. But I can't stay around right now. I'll see you later." Freya gave him a strange look, but he sent her a pointed stare and she accepted his silent request not to say anything. The white-lighter gave him son one last look, and offered a slight smile. Chris didn't return it, and Leo sighed before leaving the group.

Chris watched his father go, then turned as Prue approached him. "Would you like me to show you around?" she asked. Her voice was still slightly distant and formal, but she was willingly talking to him, and Chris couldn't help but feel relief.

"I would like that," he said with a smile.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell Chris the truth?" Freya demanded as she walked over to Leo. He was standing next to the waterfall, listening to the steady splash of falling waves. "Why did you let him think that you don't trust him?" 

"Because to correct his assumption would mean telling him that you didn't trust him." He turned and gave Freya a scrutinizing look. "That you still don't."

"I welcomed him into the Resistance," Freya pointed out.

Leo shook his head. "You did that because you had to, Freya. Because he hasn't given you proof that he isn't on our side. Because you know that refusing that would give him reason to leave us. If I tell him that the conversation he heard was actually me trying to convince you not to strip his powers, lock him in a cage, keep his as a prisoner…"

"He'd trust you," Freya finished.

"But my trust does not matter to him as much as yours does," Leo said glumly. He knew it to be true. Chris had long since come to the decision that his father didn't trust him, didn't care about him as much as he cared about the rest of the world. It wasn't Leo's trust that mattered, it was Freya's.

"He needs his family…"

"He has his family. Prue, Ria, Adam, and Jason all trust him," Leo countered. "And in time, maybe I can convince him that I trust him as well. But I will _not_ tell him that you think he may be a threat. It would devastate him."

"But…"

"No," Leo interupted firmly, shaking his head. When it came to Chris, he often felt wrong-footed and out-of-sorts. He supposed that was one of the reasons there relationship was so strained, he never felt comfortable around his own son. But for the first time in six years, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, exactly what he needed to do for Chris. "It is important to me that my son trust me. It is important to me that he know the truth. But it is much more important to me that feel welcomed here, that he feels like he belongs. He trusts you, Freya. He looks up to you and the other Valkeries. And he believes that you trust him also, despite everything he has done. Or rather, everything he didn't do. I won't take that from him."

"You'll let him hate you?" Freya asked in disbelief. These strange human emotions never really made sense to her. Why would anyone let their own child hate them?

"If it keeps him here, keeps him safe. There is nothing I wouldn't do for him." Leo turned to look at Freya, the fire of conviction burning in his eyes. "I lost Chris to Wyatt's corruption once. I won't risk doing it again."

Freya swallowed, somehow both impressed and unnerved by the strength of Leo's certainty. "As you wish," she consented.

* * *

Next Chapter: Tears in Heaven, Hope in Hell 

Due: Sun 6/3


	16. Tears in Heaven, Hope in Hell

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So here's the thing; I'm having a lot of trouble with this story. It just refuses to be written. To that end, I've decided that I'm going to need to write a bit slower than usual. I don't know how quickly I can get the chapters up, maybe once or twice a month. Hopefully the muse of this story will come back soon enough, but for right now… Sorry guys, but it's going to be slow going. So I won't post update dates.

* * *

People of Importance:

Daivd and Lila: adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Leta: one of the Valkeries. She's the only one we've met so far that I made up, all the others are mentioned on the show and therefore do not belong to me.

Grishom: a male witch and a member of the Resistance.

Kaia: a witch who works for Wyatt.

Tanya: the Phoenix Matriarch

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Tears in Heaven, Hope in Hell

The demon didn't stand a chance.

He barely even had time to register another presence before she was kicking him to the ground, eyes flashing, hair flying in the air around her head. A quick succession of punches later, and he was cowering on the ground, unable to defend himself. She snapped her wrist at him, an athame appearing in one hand, and moved in for the kill.

The demon didn't stand a chance.

She stepped away from him as he demon gave one last growl of rage and pain, then erupted into bright red and orange flames.

"Oh, very nice, child," a voice said, filling the cave, reverberating off the walls.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. She had pale white skin and dark black hair, streaked with gray. Her eyes were almost black, and set back in her face, hooded by wrinkled skin. She was old, but not weak. Power and confidence radiated from her in great waves.

The woman who had killed the demon straightened, her eyes traveling towards the newcomer. The athame disappeared from her hand, but she did not relax her slightly defensive pose.

"Hello, Aunt Tanya," she said softly.

"You are not an easy target to track down, Bianca," Tanya replied. "Even for the Matriarch of the Phoenix Clan."

Bianca gave a tiny smile, more of a smirk than anything else. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled as she replied, "I learned from the best."

"Your mother was a fearsome fighter," the matriarch agreed with a nod.

Bianca's expression clouded. "Yes… she _was_." The emphasis was there, so slight that anyone else might not have noticed it. But Tanya heard it, and knew what it meant, what Bianca was thinking.

Her mother was a fearsome fighter.

Was.

Past tense.

It had been four years since the brave Phoenix fell, defending her only child and her clan from a demonic attack. They never did discover how the demons had found them, but they had shimmered in as though they owned the place. There was no warning, and the entire clan might have been destroyed had Lynn not acted as quickly and deadly as she had. She was not strong enough to vanquish all the demons, but she held them at bay while the others fled.

In the end, the act of bravery stole her life.

Bianca turned away from the Phoenix Matriarch for a moment, thinking. She knew perfectly well why Tanya was here. The world was turning into a war ground, and she was no fool. Sooner or later, they would have to take sides. And they were a clan, they always took sides with each other above everything else. Tanya was here to make sure that, no matter what the Phoenix elders decided, no matter which side they chose, Bianca would stand with them.

As witches, they would be accepted by Good. As assassins, they would be accepted by Evil.

As Phoenixes, they were smart enough to know the ultimate rule of survival; always back the winning team.

"I think it is time we had a chat, you and I," Tanya said thoughtfully, watching the emotions that played across Bianca's face.

The younger Phoenix didn't answer right away. Then she turned, looking at her aunt seriously. "We want different things, Aunt Tanya," she said at last. She already knew which side Tanya wanted to be on, and she already knew which side she herself wanted to be on. It was only a matter of time before their two ideas came into conflict.

But Tanya gave a gentle laugh and a crooked smile. "No, my dear, we both want exactly the same thing. We just have different ideas of how to get it." She stepped closer to Bianca, studying her niece. She could see bits of Lynn in Bianca's face and eyes. The fierce temper, the unwavering loyalty, the refusal to ever surrender… So much like her mother.

"He's not just evil," Bianca said. "He's more than that. He's a threat to everything." She met Tanya's gaze, but then had to look away. She couldn't explain why she felt this way. But somehow, she simply knew that Wyatt Halliwell would destroy this world.

Tanya wanted to choose Wyatt's side. Wyatt was going to win, they all knew that.

And Bianca saw the wisdom in that choice. Wyatt would win, he was practically unstoppable. She'd heard the rumors that some magical creatures, lead by the Valkeries, had started a Resistance against him. But still… They were nothing but fools if they thought they had a chance of winning.

So if everything made so much sense, what was this strange feeling hanging over her, this unidentifiable emotion that lingered in the air? Why was she so reluctant to join sides with the Twice Blessed Child?

"All I want to know, Bianca, is if you are on our side or not," Tanya said at last. "I am not interested in the means… only the ends."

To that question, Bianca knew she could give a perfectly honest answer. "I will always be on your side, Aunt Tanya."

Tanya nodded. "Good girl," she murmured. But she still stared at Bianca with an unsettled expression. It was as though she could see something that Bianca could not. Finally, she turned away. "I wonder…" she said softly, inaudibly.

"You wonder what, Aunt Tanya?" Bianca asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She knew the saying, that curiosity killed the cat. She'd never believed it.

The Phoenix Matriarch shrugged. "I wonder what you're meant for, my child."

"Meant for?"

Tanya gave Bianca one last scrutinizing stare, then said, "You're meant for something. I can see it…" She trailed off, then added contemplatively, "You've got a touch of destiny about you."

* * *

Chris watched quietly as Myst and Freya talked. He didn't know what they were saying, he was too far away to hear. He would have approached closer, but then Freya would have sensed his presence. As it was, he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't aware of him. She kept glancing over his way, as though she could see him, even though he was completely hidden.

The Resistance.

He was a part of it now, a part of the organization working against Wyatt. Against his brother.

"What made you help them?"

Chris spun around in surprise. He was so caught up in his own thoughts, in trying to stay hidden from Freya and Myst, he hadn't heard Jason's approach. But his mortal uncle was standing behind him, watching Chris in undisguised amusement and curiosity.

"What do you mean?" Chris said. He knew what his uncle was referring to. He knew many of the people on this island were wondering that as well. He'd left the island, and they were so sure he had betrayed them. But then he turned out to be helping them, and he returned here with the others after rescuing David.

Still, he wasn't going to just volunteer his feelings or his reasons. He wanted someone to actually accuse him of something before he started making excuses for himself.

"You left the island, Chris. You left because you were upset with your father. You left, and I don't know what you meant to do, but I know it wasn't to help us in our rescue mission. What changed your mind?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't just believe that I was trying to help? Why do you have to think that I have a hidden agenda?" Had his father really managed to turn that many people against him?

"I don't think you had or have a hidden agenda," Jason replied with a shrug. "I don't think you have any agenda. I think you had no idea what to do, and you fled because you were scared. I'm just curious why you came back. What made you… see the light?"

"What makes you think I saw the light?" Chris snapped. Why did everyone believe that turning on Wyatt was the best course of action?

Jason just shook his head wearily. He didn't want to get into an argument with Chris about this. He just didn't have the strength or energy. So instead of answering the question, he replied, "I was just trying to start up a conversation. Obviously, you don't want to talk." And he turned to go.

Chris felt suddenly guilty about his behavior. Sure, he was upset, but Jason had been supportive of him being here, and he shouldn't take his frustration with the situation out on his own family. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, before Jason could leave. "I didn't think…" He trailed off, and shrugged.

"No," Jason agreed solemnly, "you didn't." He sounded almost defeated.

"Why is everyone so…" Chris stopped, unable to think of the right word. "Before all this… we always used to argue. All the time. Everyone was so full of life and energy and… We loved debating. Now… it's like everyone's just… resigned themselves to some horrible fate…"

"You weren't with us, Chris," Jason replied. "You don't understand what those weeks were life, after Wyatt exposed magic. You don't… you just don't get it." He forced himself to stop. He'd only wanted to strike up a civil conversation with his nephew, and now he was getting into an argument with them. Basically blaming him for being blind.

They'd all made mistakes. They needed to forgive each other and move on. They needed to band together. They were a family, and there was no way they would get through this if they didn't stay at each other's side.

He wasn't even upset with Chris. He understood the boy's refusal to see the evil that slowly twisted it way around his brother. It was easier than accepting the truth; that there tiny patch-work family was about to lose another member.

It was just that… Sometimes it was hard to let go. He knew how much Chris' absence had hurt Prue, and his daughter was the most important person in the world to him. He'd promised Phoebe that if anything ever happened to the Charmed Ones, he'd keep their daughter safe. And now the Charmed Ones were gone, and he was going to do everything in his power to protect Prue from the horrors of this world.

And if the cost of that plan was that he would have to be upset with Chris more than he wanted, if it meant he had to be harsher to Chris, had to force him to understand… So be it.

Prue came first.

"Daryl," Chris said abruptly. When Jason gave him a confused look, he elaborated, "Daryl was the reason I came back. He was the one who made me understand… to see everything differently." Daryl was the reason he knew he had to save Wyatt from himself.

Jason didn't say anything for a long moment. He appeared to be slowly digesting Chris' words, and Chris couldn't understand why he was so quiet. He thought it was a straight-forward answer to a question Jason had asked. So why did Jason appear to distraught?

"What did Daryl tell you?" Jason said at last.

"Nothing…" Chris faltered. "He just… asked me some questions. Wanted to know… wanted to know how I felt… Why?'

Jason sighed. "Because Shelia was killed a few days before you joined us here. By Wyatt's demons."

Chris felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He stared at Jason, at a loss for words, winded by the reality of the words. He had gone to see Daryl only a few days after Daryl had lost his wife… to Wyatt.

He'd spoken to Daryl about how hard it was to turn his back on Wyatt. About how he thought Wyatt was only trying to protect them all. And Wyatt had… he'd let his demons kill… Shelia was their friend. She had come to his birthday parties, to family dinners, to everything… How could… How could this happen?

He didn't even know what to say.

"I… I can fix this," Chris said at last. "I can stop him, save him… I know I can."

Jason felt sympathy suddenly for the young witch-lighter. "You're twenty, Chris," he said gently, resting a hand on Chris' shoulder. "It isn't you job to fix the world."

But Chris shook his head. "I'm a Halliwell, Uncle Jason," he replied. "That's always been our job."

* * *

Leo glanced around the cave cautiously. Behind him, the portal he had used to leave Valhalla closed shut. The new spells around the island prevented him from simply orbing away, but Freya had given him his own pendant so that he could come and go as he pleased.

The cave appeared empty, but he had long since learned that appearances could be deceiving. He waited in patient silence, knowing that as long as he didn't simply orb away, the person he wanted to see would eventually show herself.

And she did.

She was tall, with long dark brown hair and large brown eyes. Her tan skin glowed slightly in the flickering light of the torches that surrounded the cave. She seemed to melt into the room, somehow condensing out of thin air.

"Oracle," Leo said, nodding his head towards her respectfully.

The Oracle gave him a wholly untrustworthy smile and whispered in a breathy voice, "White-lighter. This is not a safe place for someone like you."

"I know," Leo said simply. He was no longer the same pacifist white-lighter he'd been for so long. He wasn't the man Piper first met, the one she'd fallen in love with. He wondered, sometimes, if she saw him now, would she still love him? Would she even recognize him? He was not meek or timid or quiet. He wasn't even wise. But he was determined and stubborn and willing to risk it all for the one thing that mattered the most to him.

His family.

And to that end, he was here, in this cave, requesting information from a demonic oracle.

"You'd like to know a little something about your family, wouldn't you?" the Oracle practically purred. "Well…" she drew out the word with a sly smirk. "You can't get something for nothing, you know."

"What do you want?" Leo asked warily.

"Nothing you can't give me," the Oracle assured him, although it was a cryptic answer. "I must say, though, I'd be almost tempted to search for your answers just for the sake of getting to learn a little more about your family. They do intrigue me… Particularly young Christopher."

"Not Wyatt?" Leo asked before he could stop himself. He'd have been just as happy to learn something about Chris' future, but he naturally assumed that the Oracle would be more interested in Wyatt. Wyatt was, after all, the prophesized one. He was the one with the great destiny, the one who everyone from the greatest Elder to the lowest demon was fascinated by.

"Oh, Wyatt Halliwell is certainly interesting enough…" the Oracle mused, "but Christopher…" She shook her head and smiled. "Expect great things from him, white-lighter. Whether these great things are for the sake of Good or Evil, I cannot say. But great things will come… For your youngest son has a touch of destiny about him."

* * *

Next Chapter: The Birth of the Empire 


	17. The Birth of the Empire

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So I'm still updating slowly, but I'm relatively pleased with this chapter and have some idea for the next one, so hopefully I'll be a little fast on the posting of new chapters. Although I can't promise anything yet.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: The Birth of the Empire

Jason glanced around the mall nervously. Next to him, Prue watched everyone with narrowed eyes. The fifteen-year-old witch and the mortal did not look out of place in the crowded area, but even so, Prue couldn't help but feel that every eye was on her.

The mission was strictly reconnaissance. After the attack on Wyatt's headquarters last week, they all knew it was only a matter of time before the Twice Blessed struck back. So far, there had been little to no signs of outward hostility, but this relative peace would not last long. Even now, the gears of war were slowly turning, preparing for the future.

Valhalla had been protected with many spells and charms, and it was safe. But the mortal world did not have that luxury, and who knew what havoc Wyatt could impose upon them. Leo and Freya had both decided that it was best if they kept an eye on the outside world, just in case.

Jason, being a mortal himself, was the best candidate for this job. Unlike other magical creatures, he could easily blend in. And, since he wasn't a witch, there was no chance he could accidentally use magic and get himself into any trouble with the demons or the few remaining witch hunters.

But, at the same time, Leo had been loathe to send him unprotected into the fray, and Prue, wanting to be helpful, had offered to go. Myst have given her a pendant that would open the portal back to Valhalla if necessary. And she could use her powers to protect herself and her father until they could escape.

"Everything seems normal," Jason commented under his breath as he strode casually towards the food court. There were no signs of fighting, no panicked people, no demons. Just mortals, going about their lives.

Prue nodded, still worried. She watched as her father bought a cup of coffee from the Starbucks stand and chatted easily with the barista. Leaning against the wall, she surveyed the scene carefully. It was too quiet, she decided. Wyatt had to have already started thinking about his war, so why hadn't he done anything?

Jason handed her a cup of hot chocolate. She wrinkled her nose at her father and remarked dryly, "I'm fifteen, Dad. I'm allowed to drink coffee."

Jason rolled his eyes and thrust the cup at her. "As long as I'm buying, you're not starting in on the coffee yet. I won't have you end up like your mother, who couldn't function until she'd had about seven cups of the stuff."

Prue laughed and took a sip of the hot chocolate. Once again, she let her eyes wander over everyone. Watching. Waiting.

* * *

The man stared at the pictures for a moment, tracing the line of each face with his index finger. His own expression was thoughtful and cautious, but his lips were pressed into a thin and resolute line.

He turned to the woman next to him. "Tell me what we know."

The woman sighed. They knew very little. She glanced around the building they were in and frowned. There were no windows, and only one door. The far wall was covered with computers that hooked up to every security camera in the San Francisco metropolitan area. The screens were flashing, switching from one image to another, rapidly moving through the cameras. A surveillance system. At each computer was a man or woman, responsible for watching the flickering pictures, looking for specific people.

The wall behind them was covered with telecommunication devices. Phones, radios, speakers. Different ways of communicating with several other offices around the city and state. Two men walked back and forth along that wall, answering ringing phones, listening to radio signals, transmitting information through the network of speakers.

To the right, the wall was covered in maps of San Francisco. The left wall was empty, save for the single door.

The woman looked back at the photographs. "They are Halliwells," she said softly. She pointed to the first picture. "These are the original Halliwells, Penny and her daughter Patty. They're both long dead." She switched to another picture. "Patty had four daughters. These are the first three, Prudence, Piper, and Phoebe. Prudence and a prominent doctor were killed several years ago, murdered in her home. Piper was killed six years ago, also murdered."

"I see," the man said, nodding. "And Phoebe Halliwell? And… what was the fourth sister's name?"

"Paige," the woman replied. "She was the daughter of Patty Halliwell and a man who so far we have been unable to identify. She was put up for adoption and her adopted parents, the Matthews, were killed in a car accident when she was in high school. She was also in the car, but managed to somehow… _miraculously…_ survive."

"Interesting," the man murmured.

"Isn't it?" the woman replied smoothly. "Both Phoebe and Paige died as well, at the same time, again in their own home. We believe it was murder, although… well, that is an awful lot of murders in one family."

"This is hardly a regular family," the man muttered under his breath.

The woman agreed with a nod. Then she continued, "Prudence never married, never had children. Piper Halliwell married a man named Leo Wyatt…" She sifted through a set of papers and pulled out a form. Handing it to the other man, she said, "And Leo Wyatt was supposed to have died during World War II."

The man scanned the death certificate, and didn't say anything. But his expression became even more grin, more resolute.

The woman continued, "They had two children, both boys. The oldest, Wyatt Mathew Halliwell I will return to later. The younger, Christopher Perry Halliwell, had disappeared. We don't know if he is still alive."

"But you haven't found a body," the man pointed out. "And all the others, when they died, you found bodies." That suggested that either his death was different from the rest of the families, or he wasn't dead.

"The next sister, Phoebe Halliwell, married Cole Turner, and divorced within the year. They had no children. She later remarried, to Jason Dean, the owner of the newspaper that she worked at. They had one child, a daughter. Prudence Halliwell."

"Named after her aunt?" the man asked. He looked at the picture the woman was pointing to, the one that showed Prue and her father standing in the middle of a crowd. Prue was holding a ball of fire in one hand, either attacking the people around her, or defending herself from them; it was unclear which.

"This picture was taken shortly before Prue disappeared. Like her cousin, she has not been seen since."

"This was after Wyatt Halliwell killed the Chairman?"

The woman nodded slowly. "It was," she responded. She pointed to another picture, the last of the bunch. "That is Paige Matthews and her husband, Richard. Both are dead. He died shortly after she did…" The woman paused, as though thinking, then added, "They had two children. The older, a girl, Patricia. The younger, a boy, Adam. Neither of them have been seen lately…" She glanced up at the far wall, at the surveillance system. "And if they were anywhere in San Francisco, we would know about it."

"So, let me see if I understand this correctly. We have seen the bodies of all the Halliwells except Wyatt, Christopher, Prudence, Patricia, and Adam. Likewise, we have not seen the body of Leo Wyatt… who was supposed to have died long ago… or Jason Dean. They could be alive, or they could be dead. We don't know."

"Precisely," the woman answered in a crisp voice.

"So what do we know?" the man asked.

The woman sighed again. She was starting to get a headache from this. "We know that Wyatt Halliwell has taken over one of the skyscrapers in our city. We know that he has these magical… things… working for him. We know he has killed, we know he refuses to be stopped. We know he has set up a museum that says all the Halliwells were protectors of the good and the innocent. We know that because of that museum, the witch hunters were barely able to maintain any sort of support. In short, we know that Wyatt Matthew Halliwell is a threat."

"Could he be protecting his family?" the man asked thoughtfully, picking up the photograph of Wyatt and staring at it.

"That would be my guess," the woman replied. She reached for the photograph, taking it from the man's hands and staring at it for a moment. Then she handed it back and said, "I cannot stress this enough. This… creature… is a threat. He _must_ be stopped."

Before the man could reply, there was a shout from one of the surveillance stations.

"We got one!"

The man and the woman turned to look. One of the surveillance workers was pointing to a screen that was clearly hooked up to a camera in a mall. Amidst the milling teenagers, mothers with young children, and occasional father, they could clearly see Prudence Halliwell and Jason Dean.

"What are your orders?"

The woman looked at the screen in cold triumph. "Kill her before she kills us."

* * *

It happened so swiftly, Prue was unsure what exactly the beginning had been. Before she knew what was happening, men were moving towards her, black masks pulled over their faces, guns pointed straight at her heart. Next to her, Jason stiffened and turned, but not in time to prevent the inevitable attack.

The men coming after her had been given orders to bring her in… dead or alive.

They shot to kill.

Prue was already diving out of the way, but the first round of bullets caught her in the shoulder, and one sliced through her stomach. She felt unbearable pain, a fire burning in her veins, and wondered if this was what all bullets felt like. A moment later, Jason had collapsed at her side, and she saw the spread of deep red across his shirt.

Blood.

Her last conscious thought before the pain overtook her was that she had not even had time to activate the pendant to take her back to Valhalla. She succumbed to the darkness, the green pendant pressed between her chest and the floor.

Far away, in the safety of his fortress tower, Wyatt doubled over as pain tore through his stomach, signaling that one of his family was out of Valhalla… and dying.

He did the only thing he could think of.

He orbed.

Two men advanced on Prue, guns still in front of them. One of the men paused next to her, kicking her in disgust with his foot. She moved limply, still unconscious. People were screaming all around them, and the other men were coming closer, guns still held at the ready. The air was filled with noise, shouts and cries and the echo of gunfire now fading mixed with the distant wailing of sirens and the sobs of children who understood nothing except that someone was hurt.

It was in the middle of this confusion that Wyatt appeared.

"Enough! Stay away from my family!" He flung out both hands, pure energy flooding from his palms, smashing everything in it's path. The mall reverberated with the energy of his magic, and although none of it was meant to kill, several people dropped to the ground in pain. He stared at them all for a moment, at the unconscious men in black, at the crying people, at the destroyed tables, twisted guns, shattered windows, all testaments to his power.

Wyatt bent over both Jason and Prue, bringing up his shield and extending his hands to heal them. The wounds slowly closed, and Prue's eyes fluttered open. There was a pause, the length of a fleeting heartbeat, before Prue, realizing who was standing in front of her, flung out her hands, wind erupting from her fingers.

Wyatt, unprepared for the attack, flew through the air and crashed into a nearby pillar. He sunk to his knees, winded, but lifted angry eyes to Prue.

"I just saved your life!"

"You're the reason my life was in danger to start with," Prue spat, reaching out and pressing her pendant with one hand. The portal appeared behind her, and she grabbed her now-awake, but still dazed, father, and pulled herself through it.

Wyatt watched as his cousin and uncle disappeared from view. All around him, people stared, unsure of what to say, what to think. The heavy silence was filled with fear and danger and the repercussions of actions nobody could have ever predicted or prevented. A baby wailed, breaking the silence, filling the air with it's high-pitched cries.

Wyatt stared at the unconscious men, men he could have killed. He hadn't killed them, and they'd been trying to kill his family. He wasn't sure why he hadn't used enough energy to rid the world of that scum, but he had spared their lives.

Maybe it was a mistake.

He orbed away.

* * *

The man and woman watched through the surveillance system as Wyatt's orbs finally faded from the air. The screen flickered for a moment, then refocused again.

The woman turned away and walked back to the table. "Well, I suppose this tells us that there is some disagreement in the Halliwell family."

"Perhaps," the man replied, "But it also tell us that this Wyatt was willing to risk his life to save his cousin and uncle." He sucked in a sharp breath. "That power… what he can do…"

"He must be stopped," the woman repeated, her voice icy. "No matter the cost."

* * *

Wyatt orbed into his home and looked around. The skyscraper gave him a remarkable view of San Francisco, the city sprawling before him in all directions. He stared out the window at it, then smashed his fist against the glass, feeling it give and then shatter beneath his skin.

His home was protected by spells so powerful he doubted even the combined forces of the Elders and the Valkeries would be able to get in. After the surprise attack, he was not foolish enough to believe the Resistance would stay away. He had to keep them out, and he had the magic to do it.

If only he could protect those not within his building.

He began to pace, objects all around him spontaneously exploding as his temper fed into his powers, sending them spiraling out of control. Prue and Jason had almost died and he… He had barely been there in time to save them. One minute later and…

"They were government. They were some organization, they had to be. How else would they have found Prue and attacked her so quickly? And their uniforms, their guns… those were all standard-issue…" he seethed in fury. How dare they attack his family? How _dare_ they?

Finally, he calmed down enough to think carefully and rationally. He needed to remove this new threat. It would mean deliberately ordering the death of humans, something he had not done before.

He didn't care.

* * *

The man watched in unconcealed fascination as the woman twisted and turned various knobs on the computer and the screen flickered, showing image and image after image. The insides of malls and restaurants, parks and playgrounds, the hallway of a school, a museum, a movie theater. He had not realized just how extensive the surveillance system was.

But he was disconcerted by the fact that despite all these hidden security cameras and recorders, they still were unable to locate Prudence Halliwell and Jason Dean.

"They went through some weird green… portal," the woman said at last, giving up and turning away from the screen. "Perhaps we can't find them because they're not on this… plane."

"You believe in alternate dimensions?" the man asked skeptically. "Isn't that a little far-fetched?"

"Only a year ago, and I didn't believe in magic or witches," the woman snapped. She stood quickly. "I don't know what I believe in anymore."

"We are at a significant disadvantage," the man said softly, trying to keep the fear and concern from his voice. "We have no idea what we're up against. Even with all the data we've collected…" He glanced at the table, gesturing to the photographs of the Halliwell family, "We still don't know enough. We can't find them, we can't fight them…"

"We _can_ fight them," the woman countered. She swung around to look at the man, paused between him and the table. "We know from history that they can die."

"Perhaps," a new voice said, and the man and the woman turned to stare in horror at a stranger who had somehow managed to appear in the middle of the room, " but so can you."

The man reached for a gun, but the stranger suddenly conjured a strange looking knife and threw it with deadly accuracy, killing the man before he could move from his seat. There were seven workers at the computers, and the woman, left alive in the room. They all scrambled to their feet, reaching for guns, for any weapon that they had. The crack of bullets filled the air, sharp and unforgiving.

But none of them had any idea who they were up against.

Or rather, _what_ they were up against.

The stranger disappeared, the air rippling as she faded. She appeared, moments later, by the far side of the room. Before anyone could turn their guns to her, she'd killed two men with a ball of crackling-blue energy that she'd thrown from her palm.

Again, the sharp crack of a bullet. The air was filled with heat and moisture, humidity from the rapid, fear-filled breaths of the mortals who seemed to realize they were going to die.

The stranger easily dodged the bullet, moving with such speed that she seemed to fly. She was in front of the man who had shot her, and then she was snatching the gun from his hand, fingers closing over his wrist as he tried to fight back. Another shot, a round of bullets, and she spun around, forcing the hapless man in her grasp between herself and the bullets. He slumped over, blood spreading across his shirt, eyes glazed in death, and the stranger stepped over his body and advanced on the remaining men and woman.

The woman, shaking with righteous anger, grabbed the nearest chair and hurtled it at the stranger. But the stranger easily kicked it to the ground, breaking the wood in the process. Another knife appeared in her hand, and she threw it, killing yet another of the computer workers.

It was now four against one. Another burst of energy from the stranger's palm, and it was three against one. The stranger disappeared again in another ripple of air, and reappeared behind one of the men. She killed him with the sharp jab of the strange knife into his back, and he cried out in pain and despair as he collapsed to the ground.

The stranger through the knife, but the man she had been aiming at managed to step out of the way. In his haste, he tumbled to the ground, tripping over the broken chair. Gasping for breath, he reached out and tried to defend himself with a shattered piece of the chair leg. He threw it, but the stranger snatched it out of mid-air, a smirk fixed on her features.

The woman lifted a gun towards the stranger and pulled the trigger. The blast of bullets, flying from the barrel, filled the air with noise of the reverberating echo. The stranger turned as the shots were fired, eyes widening as she was caught by the surprise attack. But before the bullets could hit her, she'd faded away again.

There was a silence in the room, and the man on the floor looked around at the destruction. The computer screens were ruined, riddled with holes from the bullets. They were spitting electricity into the air, sparks that sputtered and died as they fell to the ground. The table also had been broken in the fight, and leaned haphazardly to one side. The maps on the wall had scorch marks on them, and singed edges, testament to the stray energy balls that had hit them.

"Do you think she's gone?" the man whispered, pulling himself to his feet.

"She's not," a voice said, and the stranger was suddenly in front of him, the sharp metal tip of the knife sliding into him easily. He crumpled to the ground without a sound, and the stranger turned on the woman with a cold glare.

"What are you?" the woman gasped, realizing that she would surely die. She had no weapons now, and the stranger had just killed everyone else.

The stranger looked at her for a moment, eyes clouded by a memory.

"_Some government agency attacked Prudence Halliwell and Jason Dean at the mall today. Wyatt wants them killed," Tanya said, shimmering in front of Bianca._

_Bianca frowned. "Does he know what the organization was?"_

"_No, but the shot to kill without waiting for a trial or anything," the Phoenix matriarch replied. "We are to figure out who they are and destroy them."_

"_He's requested this?" Bianca asked skeptically, folding her arms over her chest. "We don't even know who they are."_

"_No, but we're assassins. We can figure it out." Tanya paused, then said quietly, "Actually, you can figure it out."_

"_Why me?" Bianca asked instantly, suspicious. _

"_Why not?" Tanya shot back._

_Bianca shook her head and looked away. "I already told you I am on your side. Why do you have to test me, Aunt Tanya?"_

_Tanya gave her niece an amused smile. "Has it occurred to you, my child, that this isn't a test? Perhaps I am sending you because you are one of the best, and you can complete this task?"_

_Bianca sighed and nodded. "Yes… I am sorry I accused you of not trusting me."_

"_This is our first contract from Wyatt, Bianca. It is imperative that we do not fail."_

_Bianca narrowed her eyes. "I won't fail," she said coldly. She _never_ failed._

"_Good. Remember that, Bianca, because your life may very well depend on it. The future is getting darker every day… and in this world, there is only one thing that matters," the older Phoenix said seriously, eyes filled with determination._

"_Power?" Bianca quipped._

_The matriarch smiled slightly, but countered, "Survival. No matter what else happens, you must remember who you are. You always were and always will be an assassin."_

The stranger plunged her fist forward, thrusting it into the woman's chest. "I'm an assassin," she said icily. Then she pulled her fist out and watched as the woman collapsed to the floor, gasping in pain. "That little power of mine… it drains other people's magic. However, if I don't complete it… it just kills them. Slowly and painfully… you get a little weaker every minute… until death comes as a blessing." She paused, considering something, then added, "You're mortal, so you don't have any powers to drain. But the fact that I didn't finish what I started… it will kill you, too. Enjoy the next few hours. They will be your last, because nothing can save you now."

"You… you're a murderer!" the woman spat, clutching at her chest. The throbbing ache was unbearable, spreading from her heart through her veins out to her hands and feet. She was hot and cold and weak and filled with fury.

The stranger gave a cold laugh and replied, "So are you."

"I was just protecting my world from monsters like you," the woman snarled, her face contorted in rage and pain.

The stranger crouched down on the floor next to her and whispered, "And I was just protecting _my_ world from scum like you." And she was gone in a ripple of air.

* * *

"They're gone?" Wyatt asked, giving the assassin in front of him a penetrating gaze.

She nodded, fully aware of his own stare at that of her aunt, who stood a little behind her, watching the exchange with silent interest. "And there base of operations is gone as well," she added.

Wyatt nodded, pleased. "Well done," he said, an the assassin stood a little bit straighter. "What did you say your name was?"

"Bianca," she replied, tossing her long brown hair over one shoulder and giving Wyatt an unreadable look. Her façade of collected calm hid a desire to say something else, but she hesitated, wondering how far she dared to proceed.

"Well, Bianca, it seems I certainly made the right choice offering the Phoenixes a chance to be on my side."

"You did indeed," Bianca replied with all the arrogance of someone who knows that she is the best. Then, deciding to venture one more comment, she said, "But you know it isn't over?"

"Oh?" Wyatt asked, troubled. "What do you mean?"

Bianca shot a quick sideways glance at her aunt, who stared back impassively, then said, "Just because you've stopped one organization from hunting witches doesn't mean that others won't decide to fight… It isn't over. There are plenty of mortals… politically powerful mortals… who will want you dead. And they won't hesitate to kill you."

Wyatt accepted this in silence, then gave a feral smirk. "Just let them try."

* * *

New Chapter: How Did We Get Here?

Due: Not really sure…


	18. How Did We Get Here?

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. _Italics _are flashbacks. **_Bold italics_** are telepathic thoughts. I'm starting to bring in characters from _The Lost Future_. If you've read my other story, you can see how different they are now from how they were in that timeline.

* * *

People of Importance: 

David and Lila: adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Leta: one of the Valkeries. She's the only one we've met so far that I made up, all the others are mentioned on the show and therefore do not belong to me.

Grishom: a male witch and a member of the Resistance.

Kaia: a witch who works for Wyatt.

Tanya: the Phoenix Matriarch

Matt: a Phoenix, and Bianca's distant cousin. He showed up in _The Lost Future_, but his personality is very different here.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: How Did We Get Here?

She knelt over the dead body of her aunt, and felt the tears sting at her eyes. She had not cried in years, not since her mother had been stolen from her, not since the day her entire life had turned upside-down. Blood seeped into a puddle on the floor beneath the still body of the Phoenix matriarch, crimson red and warm. She reached out, quivering fingertips brushing the surface of the pale face, lingering over the wide open eyes, frozen in death. Then she pressed her hand down, slowly closing the eyes so that the woman looked as though she was sleeping, save for the wound on her chest.

"Bianca?"

She looked up at the two men behind her. Men she knew, and yet didn't know. After her mother's death, she'd stayed away from her extended family, from their secret meetings, from their intrigue and plots. She'd taken contracts, she'd killed, she done what was necessary to stay alive, but never much more than that. This was not her life, and perhaps if her mother had been alive, she would have felt more comfortable in her own skin. But her mother was dead, and these Phoenixes who stood behind her were strangers now.

"She's dead," she said, her voice hollow. "The Phoenix matriarch is dead." She rose to her feet, brown eyes falling to the older of the two Phoenixes. A cousin of hers, Matt. She's only seen him on occasion, but she'd been close enough to him to know that he would understand her next words, understand the fury that burned in her veins. "Tell Wyatt Halliwell that I'm in. Whatever he wants, I'll do it."

A cold smile lifted the corners of Matt's face. He glanced at his companion and said, "Report to the Phoenixes. We'll need a new matriarch." Tanya had no children, there was no heir to carry on the title. This new problem would have to be addressed by a vote, which meant that all the Phoenixes, and there were a lot of them, would have to come together.

The two Phoenix men shimmered away, leaving Bianca standing in the center of the room. She glanced back at Tanya's body.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, Aunt Tanya," she said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I'm sorry… for everything. But I will do better next time. I promise." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the picture that her aunt had given her, when she'd asked her to complete a new mission, to go after a new target. She traced the features of the man, the brown hair and green eyes and stubborn countenance, and remembered how she had foolishly turned Wyatt down, foolishly said she would not do it.

And now Tanya was dead.

She was a Phoenix, and if she did not have any of the other traits of the Phoenixes, she at least had this. She did not make the same mistake twice. She had not listened to her aunt, to Wyatt Halliwell, to anyone. She had foolishly believed that she could make her own choices, her own path, her own destiny, and it had brought her to this point.

She would not make that mistake again.

She crumpled the picture in her hand, but the face of Christopher Halliwell stayed burnt into her mind, a reminder of what she had done wrong.

He would pay. If she could do nothing else right, she would at least do this. The second son of Piper Halliwell would pay for what he had just done.

With one last look at her aunt's body, she shimmered away, ready to start over, to begin again, to go back to her roots, to who she was and always would be.

She was ready to be an assassin again.

* * *

_Three days earlier…_

"Wyatt wants us to _what_?" Bianca asked, surprised, as she watched her aunt and two of her distant cousins pace back and forth across the floor of the small apartment she called home. Tanya was agitated, clearly distressed by this new assignment, and both the cousins looked uneasy as well.

"He wants us to infiltrate the Resistance," Tanya repeated.

"How?" Bianca questioned, one eyebrow raising. "I think the fact that we are assassins who are known to work for Wyatt will make them distrust us."

"I know," Tanya replied, "but I've never refused an assignment because it was too difficult. I won't turn down this one either."

"We refuse assignments all the time," one of the cousins spoke up, dark eyes flashing with annoyance. He ran a hand through his dark hair and watched Tanya as she paused in her pacing.

"True, Matt, but those we refuse on different grounds. Because we don't want to get involved in a feud between families, because we don't want to start something that is too big for us to finish, because we don't want to go against clients we've worked for in the past… _Never_ because we didn't think we could do it."

Matt snorted in derision at her explanation, but immediately lapsed into respectful silence when she turned demanding eyes towards him. She was, after all, the Matriarch, and he would not forget that, no matter how much he disagreed with her words.

"Doesn't this fall into one of the previous categories?" Bianca asked. "We don't want to get caught in a feud. That's what this is, a feud between Wyatt Halliwell and the rest of his family."

"It's feud between Wyatt and the rest of the world," Tanya countered, "and it is different now. This was a feud we would never be able to completely avoid, and we cast our lots with Wyatt. For good or ill, we are on his side now, and we can't _not_ do what he asks."

"Have you spoken to other Phoenixes? What do they think?"

Tanya shook her head slowly. "They agree with me," she said, although it did not mean much. Very few Phoenixes ever openly disagreed with their Matriarch. Their loyalty to the clan and its leader was what had kept them alive through the centuries, and they did not go back on that.

"Well, I think it is a stupid thing to use us for," the other cousin spoke up, his voice rough and grating. Red hair fell over freckled skin and green eyes. He would have been attractive, save for the long scar that ran down one side of his face, remnants from an earlier battle with some very vicious brute demons.

"Oh?" Bianca asked. She hadn't seen her many of the Phoenixes in years. This was, in fact, the first time she'd seen Matt in almost a decade, and he was the one cousin of hers she was closest to. It always surprised her then, to see how different these witches were from her childhood memories of them.

Everything, she reflected, seems different in memory.

"We're the most elite assassins in the Underworld. We have an entire network of witches, all loyal to each other, all able to fight with perfect skill and precision, spread out across the world. We could be the infrastructure for complete world domination, and he wants us to find his brother? That's it?"

Tanya reached into her pocket and pulled out a picture which she handed to Bianca. "This is what he wants, Bianca. His brother."

Bianca stared at the picture of Christopher Halliwell. Green eyes, dark hair, pale skin. A Halliwell through and through. She rolled her eyes. "He has enough power to rule the world, and what he wants is his brother?"

"It must be frustrating, knowing you can have everything except your younger brother at your side," Matt mused.

"Wyatt wants us to get into the Resistance, find out how many witches and other magical beings are there, kidnap his brother, and return to him," Tanya said with a shrug. "We can't not agree to it."

"It's going to be next to impossible," Bianca muttered.

"And if we can't do it, no one else will be able to either," Tanya countered.

"I won't," Bianca said, and the moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew with unerring certainty that she'd crossed some line. Something, some strange emotion, was telling her not to do this, not to take sides against Chris and the rest of the Resistance. She couldn't explain what she felt, but it was strong and powerful and…

And it was right. She knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that this was not where she belonged.

"What?" Tanya seemed taken aback.

"There are thousands of Phoenixes out there, Aunt Tanya. You don't need my help to do this." Bianca turned away. "Tell Wyatt I won't do it. Any other assignment, I'll take. But not this one."

"What if we don't infiltrate?" Matt suggested. "What if we just steal a pendant. We should be able to do that, no matter how well they are protected."

"That's not a bad idea," Tanya consented. "What about that, Bianca?" She turned to her niece. "What do you think of that idea?"

But Bianca had already shimmered away, leaving nothing but empty air where she stood.

* * *

The Oval Office had too many doors. President Allen thought this as he watched his two advisors enter through the doors that lead from the West Wing, his Chief of Staff enter from the door that lead to his own office, the head of his Secret Service detail enter from the door that lead outside and into the gardens. How was anyone ever supposed to know which door lead to which place when there were so many of them? 

"Take a seat," he said quickly, gesturing for the others to sit. The Chief of Staff took the seat directly opposite the president, the two advisors took chairs to the side of the president's desk, and the head of the Secret Service opted to remaining standing, his eyes alert, one hand resting on his gun, as though he expected a surprise attack at that very moment.

As usual, it was the Chief of Staff who started speaking. "Sir, we have received word that our surveillance project in San Francisco has failed."

"Failed? How?" President Allen asked. He had given that project all the money they could ever need, all the technology he had access to, and permission to do whatever was necessary to stop the threat of Wyatt Matthew Halliwell. How could they have failed?

"They were all killed, and their base of operations was destroyed," one of the advisors said quickly. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the president, his eyes a cool accusation he would never speak. He had not agreed with this plan of secret surveillance and tracking. He had wanted to extend an invitation to this magical being to speak in person. He thought perhaps they could have reached some sort of understanding. Or set a trap and assassinated the kid when he came to talk.

After all, that was all he was. A kid. Twenty-two.

The other advisor, a woman added, "We don't know who killed them, but we do believe it was not Mr. Halliwell. Perhaps someone who was working with him? Right before our cameras in the facilities were destroyed, we were able to capture the image of the back of someone with long brown hair. A woman."

"And we couldn't identify her?" the president asked.

"From her back? No, sir, we could not," the first advisor said.

"So what now?" This question was directed to the head of Secret Service, who took a moment to carefully think over his words before speaking. "It is important that we proceed with caution. It will not do to openly attack someone who is clearly more powerful than we at first believed."

"We have the entire United States military, the FBI, the CIA, the NSA, the Department of Homeland Security… how could we not be able to stop him?" the president asked.

"He has the ability to throw pure energy from his fingertips," the woman advisor replied. "And for all we know, he has an army of beings like him that will follow his orders."

The Chief of Staff nodded his head in agreement. "We cannot presume that out military is greater than his until we know what we are up against."

"He's murdered people. Our people!" the president snapped, rising and starting to pace. Everyone else made an effort to stand, as was customary when the president decided to stand, but he gestured for them all to stay seated. "We must do something."

"I agree, sir," the Chief of Staff replied. "But as of yet, he has not extended his control to anything beyond San Francisco. What his future aims are, I do not know. But for now, I think it safe to assume he is going to stay focused on the city for a little longer."

"Does that help us?"

"At the very least, Mr. President," the woman advisor spoke up, "it gives us time before he tries to take control of the entire country."

"I will not be held hostage by a twenty-two year old kid," President Allen snapped. "He must be taken out."

"Indeed, but it must be done carefully. We cannot afford more mistakes," the head of the Secret Service answered. "This needs to be planned."

"Then get in contact with the heads of all of our intelligence agencies and start planning," the president ordered.

The others rose to leave, accepting the directions in silence. The two advisors disappeared back through the doors leading to the West Wing, the head of Secret Service stepped out into the garden, and the Chief of Staff walked back into his office. The president of the United States was left alone to think over this mess, and wonder how he was going to get himself and his country out of it.

In his own office, the Chief of Staff sat down in front of his computer and sighed. He glanced up at the security camera on the far wall and waved his hand at it, using his powers to make it play a continuous feedback loop, images showing him working steadily on one problem or another.

Then he called out, "Wyatt Halliwell," knowing the witch-lighter would be able to hear him.

The air in front of him shimmered, and a young woman appeared with blonde hair and pale skin. She eyed the Chief of Staff contemplatively, then smirked and said, "So you're going by the name of Daniel Adams now, are you? How's being Chief of Staff suiting you?"

"So Lord Wyatt decided to send an old friend to speak to me?" the Chief of Staff replied. "I'm touched. And tell me, Kaia, how are you?"

The young woman laughed and threw back her long hair. Blue eyes sparkling with mirth, she replied, "I'd hardly say we're friends, Zankou," Kaia replied. "You tried to kill me."

"Well, you _are_ a witch. How was I suppose to know we're on the same side?" Zankou retorted with a grin. Then he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. He was surprised Kaia had moved up so quickly on Wyatt's hierarchy. She was just a child, only in her teenage years, with very little experience in the world. But she had some useful assets, not the least of which was her ability to appear innocent.

Kaia didn't answer the question. Instead, she asked, "Do you have news to report?"

"The president wants to proceed with caution," Zankou replied grimly. Then he changed the subject back to their previous conversation. "Why are you on our side?"

Kaia narrowed her eyes. Her parents, both witches, had been killed by the witch hunters when they first took control. She knew that several people blamed Wyatt Halliwell for the exposure of magic, but she also knew that he was the only one who could protect the magical world from the consequences of that exposure. So what if his methods were unorthodox?

"I know better than to back the losing side," Kaia replied. "What exactly does preceding with caution entail?"

"Observation," Zankou replied. He'd risen to power in the Underworld several years before, and then decided to take on the mortal one as well. Instead of going for the direct route, which could have brought the entire force of the Elders, and the Charmed Ones, who were still alive at that point, against him, he had opted for subtly infiltrating the mortal government. He'd risen quickly, with a mixture of mind-control, bribery, blackmail, threats, and murder, until he'd been asked to be Chief of Staff by President Allen. With the ability to… influence… Allen's thoughts and ideas, he was now in a prime position to firmly take control of the entire country.

A fact that the Twice Blessed Child had quickly learned and capitalized on.

Zankou was not foolish enough to believe he stood a chance against the reincarnation of King Arthur, and had quickly agreed to work for Wyatt as one of his most trusted and most powerful advisors. The eldest living Halliwell recognized Zankou's value and treated him with respect. He was not incredibly pleased about serving a witch, but, like Kaia, he knew better than to start a fight he couldn't win.

"Observation? I think we sent a pretty clear message that we would not allow observation," Kaia replied. The Phoenix's attack, she had heard, had been quick and complete.

"The president plans to get in touch with the different intelligence agencies. They are a formidable opponent. You need to be careful," Zankou warned.

Kaia shrugged. "I'll convey the message. You'll keep us informed of any governmental plans?"

Zankou nodded. "Of course."

Kaia shimmered away to relay his report, and the upper-level demon waved his hand at the surveillance camera again, removing the spell he had cast before.

Wyatt had not wanted to partake in the fight against the government, so long as the government stayed away from him. To that end, he had left Zankou with almost complete control of how to proceed from the federal level. The demon was simply to ensure that the president and his advisors never came close to harming Wyatt or his family.

By any means necessary.

Zankou remembered his conversation with Wyatt, the one that had occurred only a few days after the attack on the surveillance center in San Francisco.

"_I don't want to control the mortal world, Zankou. I simply want to make sure it doesn't control us." Wyatt ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed. It was dark outside the far window, and he kept glancing around the office curiously, having never been in the White House before._

"_I understand."_

"_The attack on Prue and Uncle Jason… they almost died. I will not allow that sort of thing to happen." Eyes flashing a midnight blue, he turned to face Zankou. "You will not fail me in that way again. Do I make myself clear?"_

"_They will keep coming after you," Zankou countered, deciding to test his limits with the Twice Blessed. He wanted to know just how much freedom he would have in this new arrangement. "I can't prevent them."_

_Wyatt narrowed his eyes. "Then what good are you to me?"_

"_How do you want me to proceed?" Zankou said quickly, stepping backwards from the raw power he could feel radiating off this young man._

"_I don't care. I'm not interested in the details. I don't even want to hear about them. You will keep me informed of the overall picture, but you will take your demons and do whatever necessary to keep the government away."_

"_Whatever necessary?" Zankou echoed, a cold smile stretching across his face. He had just been given permission to kill any he wanted. And the Twice Blessed would give him control over the demons he needed to do it._

_Wyatt nodded, and orbed away, a mixture of blue and black dots._

Zankou stood up suddenly. He turned and left the office, walking into the hallway and towards the double doors that lead outside. The garden was peaceful at night, and he knew he would have no fear of being interrupted. He couldn't do anything outwardly magical out in the open, it was too difficult to ensure that he would not be seen, and he couldn't take that risk.

Fortunately, telepathic powers did not take any physical form.

He rather enjoyed picking up powers from other demons and witches. Watching them die and then absorbing their essence always left him with a very self-satisfied feeling.

**_Damien _**he thought, reaching out towards the mind of a chameleon demon.

**_Yes, sir? _**came the instantaneous reply.

**_E__ndeavor to have yourself disguised as something unsuspicious, perhaps a lamp or a desk, and infiltrate the CIA. I need to know what is going on there before the president knows. I need to be able to prepare how I am going to manipulate him._**

**_Yes, sir. I will have the information for you as soon as it is discussed._**

Zankou took a breath of the clean night air, and thought to himself that there was nothing quite as pleasing as espionage.

* * *

Chris watched as Jason and Prue leaned over the table of maps. He could almost feel the tension in the room, the anxiety that radiated from the others. Freya was standing behind Jason, in the far corner, and David was watching the entire situation through half-closed eyes. Leo wasn't here, he had offered to watch Adam and Ria for the afternoon because everyone had wanted to keep them away from all this. It was stupid, Chris knew, to think that they could keep his two younger cousins in the dark for very long, Ria was only a year younger than Prue, and even Adam, who was only eleven, was growing up quickly enough to realize that this excursion to Valhalla was not just a vacation. 

"It would help if we had spies…" David said at last. "Someone in Wyatt's ranks. It's all very well and good to have maps of the city that we can label with little dots and lines and whatnot, but that doesn't mean we actually know anything."

"Wyatt doesn't have 'ranks,' he isn't taking over in the conventional way," Prue countered. She glanced back at Chris, catching his eyes, signaling that it was his turn to speak up. She was still upset with her cousin for his complete faith in Wyatt for all those months, but she was struggling to move past the anger. He was still her cousin, and he was here now, and that was what mattered.

Right?

"Prue is right," Chris nodded, and he knew that he'd be listened to because even if he still wasn't completely trusted by everyone, they all agreed that he knew Wyatt the best. "He's not going to build an army and send it marching out towards the enemy to engage in warfare."

"But he is building an army," a new voice said, and the old, wizened Grishom entered the room. "Just not the kind that you are thinking of." He glanced at Chris for a moment, then turned away, his eyes finding Freya. "It is the kind of army that doesn't march in straight lines and wave flags with their colors and symbols. They come in twos or three, attack, and leave. But it is an army."

"A guerilla army," Freya agreed. "Well, could we expect any differently? That is how magic battles are usually fought."

"Which brings us back to needing spies," David muttered.

"Look, we have reports that he's starting to get control of the mortal governments as well. He's not going to just takeover, his influence will be much more subtle. But it is there," Prue said.

"So? How does that help us with the spies?" David asked in exasperation, turning to look at the young witch. Why did she continually bring this up? Who cared what type of army he had, what type of control he pursued?

"Because!" Prue snapped irritably. "We can't send spies into something that doesn't exist!"

"But it does exist," David retorted, placing his hands on his hips as he glared at Prue. "Look, I know that you're still stuck wanting to believe that your cousin isn't completely evil…"

"Now you're getting me confused with Chris," Prue shot back, face flushed.

"That's enough. Everyone stop now! This is not a time for us to turn on each other," Freya's voice, filled with the confidence of someone who always has her orders obeyed without question, was enough to quiet the room. All eyes turned towards her, waiting for her to speak, but she was simply staring at David and Prue in cold silence.

"Prue is right," Chris ventured, speaking up softly. "Wyatt doesn't have an army in the conventional sense. He doesn't even have a guerilla army. He doesn't sit on his throne and give orders. He lets the demons do what they want, because he knows that they won't do anything against him. They're too terrified of him to try that, and he'd vanquish them in a heartbeat if they did." Chris sighed and looked back towards the table with maps. "The only things he really gets involved in are the larger scale threats. And even those… our sources say he hasn't personally involved himself in taking control of the government. He didn't personally attack those witch hunters that tried to kill Prue and Uncle Jason… He lets demons and witches know what he wants the end result to be, and then lets them do whatever they want so long as they ultimately fulfill his request."

"And we can't send spies into something like that," Prue continued, picking up where Chris had left off, "because what exactly would we be spying on? We already know his orders, those are obvious. And there isn't some chain of information that gets passed around that we could try to break…" She trailed off and sighed. "The only one who would make a good spy would be someone who can get close enough to Wyatt to convince him that he should be trusted with everything…" She looked at Chris. "And, unfortunately, the only person who could do that… well, Wyatt's not going to believe Chris if he comes back and says he's changed his mind."

"He wouldn't hurt Chris," Grishom said thoughtfully, eyeing the young witch-lighter in some interest. "We all know that."

"We know he wouldn't kill him," Prue countered. "But hurt… well, first he would bind Chris' powers. Which would make him useless to us. And then… who knows… I wouldn't put it past Wyatt to use more violent methods as a way of… _influencing_ Chris' decisions about which side he serves."

"So we're back to square one," Freya murmured.

"I think we should turn to the issue of safe houses," Jason said, finally lending his voice to the conversation. "We aren't always going to be able to bring everyone here… especially if we need a pendant to do so. We need somewhere in the city that we can take innocents, keep them safe, while we arrange transport back here."

Freya nodded in agreement. "We can set up spells around different places… although I don't know where… He's left most of the mortal world untouched by our warfare, at least in the physical sense. If we move safe houses out there, sooner or later he'll start attacking everything that moves."

"I think he was always going to do something like that, ever since we declared war on him," Jason pointed out dryly.

Abruptly, Chris doubled over, catching his stomach in pain, eyes starting to water. He felt Jason and Prue rush to his side, but he waved them away, pulling himself upright and staring at Freya in a mixture of horror and panic. "Something's happened. Leo… he's…" He didn't know exactly what had happened, only that his father was in some type of danger, and that they needed to get to him now.

Fortunately, Freya did not ask questions. She summoned several Valkeries and pressed a finger to the pendant around her throat, causing a portal to open in the middle of the room, a portal that would lead them to Leo.

* * *

Leo fingered the pendant in his hand and sighed. He'd left Ria and Adam with Lila and borrowed a pendant from Leta. He didn't particularly want to venture out into the rest of the world right now, but he knew he had to do this. He'd tried, for the past several days, to convince the old, stubborn man to come to Valhalla, and he'd always received a blunt refusal for all his efforts. 

But Daryl was their friend, and as long as he was out there, he was in danger. Leo wasn't willing to give up quite yet.

He left Valhalla and appeared in the living room of Daryl's home, where their friend was sitting, reading a book.

Daryl looked up, prepared to tell Leo that he wasn't going to run away from the moral world, that it was his home, but the words never left his lips.

Instead, a cold voice seeped into the air.

"Wyatt said you would eventually show up."

A figure materialized in the room. She was a commanding sight, her wrinkled skin pale as snow, her dark black hair streaked with gray. She was holding an athame in one hand, and backed by two younger men, one with dark hair and dark eyes and the other with red hair and a long scar down one side of his face.

Leo fell instantly into a fighting stance.

The woman almost laughed. "Do you really think you can fight me, white-lighter? I'm an assassin. A Phoenix." She smirked as Leo's eyes widened, as she knew that he had realized the importance of what she had said. "Heard of us, have you?" she mocked.

Daryl had risen to his feet and joined Leo's side at the appearance of the strangers. He placed his hand on Leo's shoulders, silently holding the man would understand what he wanted and orb them somewhere safe.

And Leo started to orb at the same moment all three Phoenixes threw their athames.

One struck Daryl in the shoulder and his body condensed back into its natural form as he fell to the floor, gasping in shock and fear and pain. The second athame struck Leo in the stomach, and although it could not hurt him because of his white-lighter status, it was enough to force him to reform from the tiny white orbs. The third cleaved the string on Leo's neck, easily slicing through the twisted twine. The green pendant fell to the floor, and the woman summoned it into her outstretched hand.

"I'll take that," the woman said, her fingers tightening around the pendant.

And then several things happened at once.

Another portal appeared behind Leo, and several Valkeries came streaming out of it, prepared to fight. Leo lunged for the Phoenix, knowing that he had to stop her from leaving with the pendant, no matter the cost to his own safety. Daryl took advantage of the momentary confusion to hurtle a chair at the attacking assassin witches, knocking one to the ground. And Chris and Prue stepped out of the portal behind the Valkeries, eyes scanning the room, ready to fight.

Prue raised a hand and threw an explosion of fire from the palm of her hand towards the Phoenix Matriarch. The aged assassin, already forced to dodge Leo's attack. barely managed to avoid being scaled by the rush of flames. The wall behind her erupted into sparks as Prue's attack hit it instead.

The dark-haired Phoenix turned to face Prue, his eyes turning cold as he took in her appearance. It wasn't difficult to tell who she was, she resembled her mother and aunts in so many ways.

"Halliwell," he snarled, conjuring an athame and flicking his wrist, sending it spiraling towards her.

Freya shoved Prue to the ground and snatched the athame out of midair. She twisted easily and sent it towards the Phoenix who had thrown it. He shimmered out of the way and it passed harmlessly through the spot where he had stood.

"The pendant! She has the pendant!" Leo cried, having now managed to grab hold of the Phoenix Matriarch.

Chris, realizing the danger of that, orbed to his father's side and seized hold of the assassin's wrist. Her hand was still clutched tightly around the green stone, her eyes alight with the fury of battle as she struggled to break free from both white-lighter and witch-lighter's holds. With a great force of power, she backhanded Leo and he crumpled to the ground, stunned. An athame appeared in her now free hand, and she slid it across her body, aiming for Chris.

The witch-lighter acted faster, using his telekinesis to redirect the athame.

Directly into her stomach.

She cried out in pain and let go of the stone, and Chris stared in shock as he crumpled, confused at what had happened and aghast at what he had done. Her blood spilled out over the fabric of her shirt, stretching from the wound to the floor, causing a small puddle to form.

And for a moment, everything stopped.

* * *

She felt it, the tiny sliver of pain that erupted into a mass of burning dagger points, and then disappeared just as quickly. Knowing what it meant, that a Phoenix, one she still cared about, was in mortal danger, possibly already dead, she did the only thing that made sense. 

She shimmered to the source of the pain.

* * *

The two Phoenixes left alive rushed to their fallen comrades side, the battle momentarily forgotten. Prue snatched up the pendant as Freya opened the portal behind them. Leo seized hold of Daryl, giving him no choice but to come with them to the safety of the island sanctuary. Leta grabbed hold of Chris and pulled him away from the dead assassin, dragging him to safety. 

In the midst of this confusion, the third Phoenix appeared. She took the entire scene in with one quick gaze. Her eyes traveled from her aunt's still body to the green-eyed boy with the blood on his hands, to her two frozen cousins.

Chris caught the barest glimpse of this newcomer, dark hair and dark eyes, features too hidden for him to see what she really looked like, and then he was falling through the portal and away from everything.

"Bianca…" Matt said, moving towards her, anger etched on his face. The room was silent and empty now, save for the body and the three still living Phoenixes. "Where were you?" he spat. "Where were you when she was killed? When we could have used another fighter?"

"There were other Phoenixes she could have had come with her," Bianca protested. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" Matt spat. "You… You are one of us. Have you forgotten that? Has your mother's death so unhinged you that you can't even remember what you are?"

"I…" She faltered. She didn't know what to say.

"You should have been here! You should have been here to help us, to save her. Our Matriarch is dead. And why? Because her niece was too absorbed in herself to realize that she was still part of a family!"

"That's not true!" Bianca protested hotly, her face turning a deep red at his accusation.

"Then what?" Matt hissed. "What were you so preoccupied by that you couldn't be here? Do you think you have some destiny different from the rest of us? That you are no longer one of us, but something else?" He seized her wrist, flipping it over, exposing the underside. Pressing his finger against the dark birthmark, he continued, "Do you see that? The mark of a Phoenix, Bianca. You're still one of us, no matter how much you may want to deny it. You should have been here!"

The other Phoenix, having mourned the passing of the Matriarch sufficiently, stood and moved towards Bianca and Matt. "Enough, Matt," he said. "We must return to the others. They need to know… although they would have felt it. We need to elect a new Matriarch. And we need to fulfill the rites for the passing of the dead."

Bianca stepped past them both. She knelt next to the dead body of her aunt, reaching out slowly to close the still-open eyes.

"Bianca?"

She glanced behind her. "She's dead," she said numbly, the truth still sinking in, still hard to understand. She bit her lip, the tears pooling in her eyes. Then she found the words to express what she needed to say, found the words to do what she should have done all along. "Tell Wyatt Halliwell that I'm in. Whatever he wants, I'll do it."

* * *

Next Chapter: Archimedes and Other Dead Men 

Due: Sun 9/2


	19. Archimedes and Other Dead Men

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to get this chapter written. I just had some problems getting from where I am in this story to where I want to be. My Muse is finally back, so updates should be once a week or so. This chapter is very short and mostly just filler, but the plot will pick up again in the next chapter.  
The _italicized_ quotes (in the order that they appear) are by Abraham Lincoln, Archimedes, and Martin Luther King, Jr.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Archimedes and Other Dead Men

When we think of history, we think of something that happened before. Writings and art and war and inventions. Very rarely do we see the history that happens around us everywhere because until it has traveled into the past far enough that we can learn about it in textbooks, we still label it as the present. History is more than that, but we condense it as much as possible so that it is easier to understand, to study, to manage. In the end, everything we learn from the past is really nothing more than a series of moments strung together, of quotes recited by dead men.

…_that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain…_

The funeral had been simple. He couldn't remember much of it, only his father's sobbing form, his brother's unemotional eyes. He was sure that his Aunts were there, and his uncles and cousins, but he couldn't remember where they had stood or what they had said. In his memory, that day existed for him, Chris, and his father alone, and no one else really mattered.

The Twice Blessed Child walked quietly through the cemetery, his eyes roving over every spot. One stone marker, made of heavy granite, was for a little girl, and he wondered how she'd died. A quick look at the dates, and he noted she'd been only six years old. Another marker, this one black as obsidian, was for an older man, and he thought instantly of his grandfather, long since buried under six feet of dirt.

Still, interesting as it was, none of these graves interested him. He turned his gaze towards the one grave he wished to see, and began to walk slowly, knowing almost instinctively that he would not be the only one there today.

He was trailed by two demons, bodyguards he had insisted follow him. He wasn't worried about an attack on his life, but he wanted to give the impression that he always took precautions, just to scare off anyone stupid enough to attack him.

The figure was hunched over, hands placed on the grass near the edge of the grave. Long brown hair fell over pale skin and baggy clothing. The Twice Blessed walked closer, gesturing for his demons to wait behind. He continued walking until he was standing directly behind the kneeling figure, watching as the thin body was wracked with silent sobs.

"This is why I am doing this, Chris," he murmured. "This is what I want to prevent."

"You're too late, Wy," Chris replied, straightening up and lifting jade green eyes towards the Twice Blessed. "She's gone, and nothing you do can change that."

"But I can keep it from happening to someone else," Wyatt argued. The two demons behind him made nervous movements, not liking that their Lord was standing so close to one of his greatest rivals. But Wyatt quelled their movements with an imperious glance.

This was not a day for fighting.

It had been a demon attack, and Chris and Piper had been the only two home at the time. When Wyatt and Paige had managed to arrive, it had been too late to save the eldest Charmed One, too late to keep their worlds from crashing down around them.

Wyatt glanced at the gravestone, at the simple words. Here his mother was buried. One of the greatest people he had ever known, and she lost everything, leaving them behind. She was nothing more than dust and ash now, and the Elders would not even let him see her spirit. How could the people who let this happen be Good?

Chris turned to look at his brother, watching the emotions that flickered through Wyatt's blue eyes. He knew what his brother was thinking, and wondered why he was not swayed by that line of reasoning. How could anything be Good if it continued to take everything from him?

But it wasn't what his mother would have wanted.

Wyatt waved his hand in the air, conjuring a bouquet of roses. He placed it at the head of the grave, near the stone plaque, and said softly, bitterly, "Happy Anniversary of You Death, Mom." Then he turned and walked away, and the two demons hurried to his side.

"What about Christopher?" one of the demons ventured.

Wyatt shook his head. "Leave him," he ordered. "Today, he gets to do whatever he wants."

_Give me one firm spot on which to stand and I will move the Earth._

The safe-house was nothing more than an abandoned warehouse protected by several intricately cast spells. The area around it was a 'dead zone' where no magical travel could be used. Although it made it more difficult to get to the safe-house, it prevented surprise attacks by demons or warlocks as well.

"How long do you think it will take for Wyatt to find this?" Ria asked walking across the dirt-covered floor. A few of the windows had been broken, the ground was littered with shards of glass. The young witch-lighter picked her way carefully through the mess.

Prue raised an eyebrow at Ria. "Who knows?" she replied. They were banking on Wyatt not being able to infiltrate their safe-house, but was that really what would happen? The spells they had cast were definitely strong enough to be noticed by any demons in the area. It was only a matter of time before Wyatt sent someone to investigate. But what other choice did they have? Setting up these protections might have been like attacking a magical beacon to their safe-house, but it was better than leaving it unguarded.

"Where's Chris?" Ria asked.

Prue sighed. "At the cemetery, I think."

"Is that safe?" Ria wondered, concerned. "Did anyone go with him?"

"No, he wanted to go alone," Prue said, shaking her head in some disgust. Chris still naively believed that Wyatt wouldn't hurt him today, as though the anniversary of Piper's death gave him special protection. Whether or not that was actually true, Prue had no idea, but she hoped that Chris would not carry his good views of his brother into other aspects of their lives as well. Wyatt wasn't good anymore, and sooner or later Chris would need to fully accept that.

"I was thinking about something," Ria said abruptly, her voice carrying a strange quality. Prue gave her an odd look, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively and asked, "Do you remember when Adam told us about that time that Wyatt was kidnapped?"

Prue scrunched up her face, trying to recall this conversation. It had occurred over a year ago, around the time that Wyatt had disappeared… when they'd all thought he was dead. What was it Adam had said? That Wyatt had been kidnapped as a baby, before Chris was born?

"I think so," Prue said cautiously. "It was the conversation he'd overheard between my Dad and Uncle Leo and Aunt Piper?" When Ria nodded, she asked, "What of it?"

"Why did Adam remember that conversation?" Ria said pointedly. "If Aunt Piper was still alive, then Adam couldn't have been more than five at the time."

"I told you I thought he'd dreamt the entire thing," Prue said patiently.

"No," Ria countered, "I don't think he did. I think he was remembering something real." Prue looked disbelievingly at here, but she refused to back down. "This is important, Prue. Adam _remembered_ it."

"Not everything happens for a reason," Prue retorted. "This doesn't necessarily have to mean anything."

Ria sighed and looked away, knowing better than to continue this conversation with Prue. The other witch wasn't going to believe her, no matter how hard she tried, so she might as well just let go of the subject. But it still plagued her thoughts, and she resolved to mention it to Chris or Uncle Leo next time she saw them.

Prue gave Ria a smile and said, "Still determined to find ways to save the world?" Then she walked from the room, leaving Ria to stand alone in the center of the glass and dirt covered floor.

"There's an answer to this, Prue," Rai said firmly. "I know you all think I am too young to really understand, but I see things better than you do. There is an answer to this… somewhere. And I'm going to find it."

…_from every mountain side, let freedom ring…_

Daryl wandered around the confines of Valhalla, watching the Valkeries and other magical creatures interact. He felt out of place here, even though he had interacted with the magical world so much in the past. But the sisters were long dead, and this was not the world he remembered anymore.

"Daryl? Are you alright?"

Daryl turned as Jason approached, eyes darkened with concern. The other mortal was dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt and he appeared to be more at home in this strange environment that Daryl would have guessed.

"Just a little overwhelmed by everything," Daryl admitted. "This is… not what I am used to."

Jason gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah, I know the feeling. I wasn't really well liked in the beginning. Not by the Valkeries, anyway. But I guess Freya kind of loosened up around me, and everyone else follows her lead."

"And you're okay with this?" Daryl gestured with one hand to everything around them.

"Okay?" Jason sighed and gave a little shrug. "It's not a matter of being okay, Daryl. This is my family. For good or ill, I can't walk out on them."

"I see this world that Wyatt's created and I wonder," Daryl admitted slightly guiltily. "I wonder if it's worth it. If I wasn't better of before I met the sisters."

"Do you think Shelia would still be alive if you hadn't known the Halliwells?" Jason asked. "It wasn't as though Wyatt gave the order to kill her. In fact, it might have been his influence that kept the rest of you safe." He knew that Wyatt valued loyalty and that as far as he was concerned, Daryl and his family had always been loyal. It seemed unlikely that he would have ever wanted Shelia's death, and Jason could only imagine the punishment that befell the demons had Wyatt discovered what they had done.

Daryl didn't answer. He observed in silence a training session, watched as Freya flipped a witch over her back and forced her opponent to the ground with startling strength and skill. He thought idly to himself that she was not someone he would ever want to be forced to face in combat.

"Would you die for them?" Daryl asked finally, turning to Jason.

Jason looked at Daryl and replied without hesitation, "I would die for Prue."

Daryl shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweater and continued walking, moving away from Jason. He knew he was supposed to be safer here, and he knew that Leo had promised to bring his sons here as well. But he didn't feel safer. Instead, he felt like he had simply moved into a gilded cage. He couldn't leave this island, but he couldn't be part of it either. He wasn't magical so he couldn't fight, but he wasn't oblivious to everything so he couldn't just go on with his life as though everything was normal. He was stuck watching on the sidelines as Good and Evil battled out their disagreements and used the mortal world as their battlefield.

"What do you want, Daryl?" Jason called. Daryl turned and stared back at his friend, and Jason continued, "You can't change the past. But you are alive. You're sons are alive. What else do you want from us?"

Just his freedom, he thought bitterly. Just a chance to have a normal life again.

He didn't answer. He leveled Jason a hard stare, then turned and walked away.

* * *

Next Chapter: The Assassin

Due: Sun 9/7


	20. The Assassin

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Please not the time change at the beginning of the chapter. Also, this is told almost entirely from Prue's point-of-view.

Chris-21

Wyatt-23

Prue-16

Adam-12

Ria-15

People of Importance:

Daivd and Lila: Adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Grishom: A male witch and a member of the Resistance.

Derek: A male witch and a friend of Leo's, now a new member of the Resistance.

Matt: One of the Phoenixes and Bianca's second cousin.

Kaia: A witch who works for Wyatt.

All other characters who appear in this chapter are not my invention but are taken directly from the television show and should be familiar to anyone who has seen Season Six.

Chapter Twenty: The Assassin

Prue POV

I looked around the destroyed building. It had been a mall once, a long time ago. As a little girl, I used to wander through it, following my mother around as she tried on different skirts and tops, looking for the perfect outfit for each occasion. It was gone now, utterly destroyed, resembling little more than a charred shell.

How long had it been? One year since Wyatt exposed magic. I remembered all that had changed since them. The weeks of not knowing where my family was while Wyatt and Chris hid in the Underworld and Uncle Leo, Ria, and Adam hid in the sewers. Then Valhalla, and the beginning of the Resistance. Chris joining us, and my own anger at his inability to accept that Wyatt had changed bubbling to the surface. Had that all happened so long ago? In some ways, it felt like yesterday.

And yet, so much had changed after that, that sometimes it feels like it must have occurred centuries ago. How could so much have gone so wrong in a year?

San Francisco fell. Not just the figurative way, but actually, literally, crumbling to the ground. We were able to turn some abandoned homes, shops, and warehouses into safe-havens. We shuffled people around, constantly trying to find somewhere safer. Our hold on Valhalla was tenuous at best, who knew when Wyatt would gain access?

There were rumors that Wyatt had taken control of the government. All of it. He certainly had subservient demons in places of political power. Uncle Leo recognized the Chief of Staff to the president as one of the most dangerous demons the world had ever seen; Zankou. The previous director of the CIA had been assassinated one night, and his replacement was a warlock. Most of the three- and four-star generals who led the United States Army where under Wyatt's control. How much longer until his reach extended to the entire world?

But there were still mortals who fought back, who say magic as something sick and twisted and evil, and hated all of us simply because we had it. Factions were rising all over the place, arming themselves and taking to the streets. How much longer until the country fell apart, turning on itself?

The mall we stood at now was a reminder of just exactly what had happened between when I was a little child and now.

Uncle Leo had received word that there had been a fight here between Wyatt's demons and a coven of witches. The word had come from the outside, and we weren't entirely sure it could be trusted. We still hadn't managed to get a spy into Wyatt's ranks, and it was becoming difficult to know who to trust. But even though this might be a trap, we had to go anyway. We had to see if there were survivors.

As though he had read my thoughts, Chris said softly, "Spread out. Search for survivors, but keeps your eyes open for spies. This could be on of… Wyatt's… traps."

I heard how he stumbled over his brother's name, not used to saying it. Still somewhat unwilling to accept what had happened. My cousin was an enigma to attempt to comprehend. He certainly had changed in the past year, growing into a leader. The Resistance respected him more now, although there were some with reservations about his close ties to Wyatt. But Freya seemed to like him, and her word was enough to force everyone to listen.

I walked away from the others. Adam, I saw, was going towards the staircase that lead to the second floor. It was a mistake to bring him, he was still too young. Although I knew that, at his age, I already participated in magic, it was hard for all of us to not go overboard trying to keep Adam safe. He was the youngest of us, the baby of the family. But we couldn't protect him forever, and so he was here, participating in this dangerous venture.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lila and David walk through the set of double doors ahead of them. They were aware and alert, their eyes constantly traveling over everything, waiting for an attack. We were all wary, but I could see the exhaustion in everyone's eyes as well. This battle was taking its toll on us, and a weary solider is more likely to falter. I worried for all our safety.

Picking my way through the shards of broken glass and fragments of wood, I made my way to the side door. It lead into a thin staircase that circled upwards. It had been used for brining merchandise from and to stores in the past, back when the mall was open. When people actually had the time or luxury to go shopping.

I was lost in my own thoughts, I stupid thing to be, and I did not hear the creak of the stair behind me until it was too late. I spun around, but the woman in front of me already had an athame pressed against my throat and I couldn't move.

"You really should learn to pay more attention," the woman said nonchalantly, as though she was merely offering advice as opposed to threatening to kill me.

"Who are you and what do you want?" I demanded harshly.

The athame pressed even harder against my throat. "Now, you really aren't in the position to be asking questions, are you?" the woman replied, her voice mocking.

I swallowed. "Well? Kill me already and get it over with."

The woman laughed. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead," she replied.

"Then what do you want?" I snapped.

"Patience, patience," the woman admonished. "Good things come to those who wait."

"Not in this world," I spat.

The woman flashed a chilling smile. "Your cousin…Chris, I believe?...is about to walk into a trap. There a several demons downstairs, all invisible, and all waiting to capture him and take him back to his brother. They are waiting until they think that you have gone upstairs, where you will be too far away to hear them when they fight."

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, panic rising in her chest at the thought of Chris being captured. I chanced taking a step backwards, away from the other woman, and was surprised when she didn't follow me.

"I thought you might want to know," the woman replied.

I studied her as she placed the athame in the back pocket of her jeans. She had tan skin and dark brown hair and the aura of something incredibly powerful and dangerous. Her brown eyes, almost hypnotic, burned with an intensity that had long since faded from most of my friends. Who was she, and where did her strength come from?

"You asked me what I want," the woman continued. "I want a way out of this life, and you and your family might be my escape."

"Why should we help you?" I asked quietly, weighing my options, biding my time. Stalling.

The woman smiled smugly. "Because you can't win this on your own."

"Do you have a name?" I asked, intrigued despite myself.

"Bianca." Without another word, Bianca shimmered away.

A shout from downstairs drew my attention and I turned and sprinted towards the fighting, praying that I would reach Chris and the others before the demons captured them all. But even as I threw myself into the fray, I couldn't help but wonder if I would see this… Bianca… again.

Prue POV

When we got back to Valhalla, Uncle Leo and Dad looked about ready to explode with worry. The five of us all had minor bruises and cuts, and Adam had sustained a pretty bad burn wound on his shoulder. Uncle Leo healed all of us, but while he was doing that I saw Ria slip away from the crowd and storm off, and I quickly followed her.

"Ria, wait!" I called, rushing to her side. I could tell by the way she was moving that she was upset, but when she turned to face me her expression was calm, almost devoid of all emotion.

"What?" she asked, her voice more of a snap.

"What's wrong?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest and watching her silently. Her chest was rising and falling with steady breaths, a sure sign that she was forcing herself to remain calm.

"Wrong?" she echoed. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Ria, you're obviously upset," I countered. She was fifteen, and if we hadn't been in the middle of a war, I would have said she was just going through a rebellious phase. She certainly looked it, with her defiant eyes and the steadily growing sneer. But I was only a year older, and I knew how easy it was to forget to be rebellious when the world is crumbling around you.

"Upset?" she hissed, her face twisted. "_Upset_?" She gestured back towards the crowd of people who were now dispersing. Dad and Chris were both looking over at us, but Uncle Leo had disappeared, probably to plan more strategies and do more research. Adam was gone as well, and Lila and David were talking to a few others, ignoring us. "He's twelve!"

Ah… well, at least I knew what the problem was.

"My brother is twelve and you want to send him to the front lines?" she continued, anger simmering just below the surface. "He's barely old enough to understand…"

"He understands a lot better than you think, Ria," I snapped back, interrupting what I'm sure would have been an interesting tirade. "And it was his choice to go."

"And sometimes adults should override that choice," Ria shot back. "It's our job to take care of him."

I rolled my eyes and said pointedly, "No, Ria, it isn't. It's Aunt Paige and Uncle Richard's job to take care him, but in case you've forgotten, they're not here." Ria stepped back, horrified by the bluntness of my comment, but I continued anyway. "We aren't adults, none of us. Chris, maybe, but certainly not you, me, or Adam. What we should or shouldn't have to do doesn't actually matter, because the world isn't the way we want it and we _have_ to live with that. For God's sake, Wyatt is the evil overlord of the world and you want to talk about what things are _supposed_ to be like? Do I think Adam is too young to be fighting demons? Of course. Do I want to protect him? Of course. But does that actually matter? We need every fighter we've got, and right now Adam is still more powerful than a lot of other witches around here. _That's_ the truth of it, not any dream you want concoct about how the world should work."

"He's my brother," Ria said, her voice deathly quiet as I finished by rant, "and it will always be my job to look out for him. He's all I've got."

"You have me," I argued, "and my dad, and Chris, and Uncle Leo."

Ria sighed and looked away. "It isn't fair," she said softly.

"No," I agreed. "But sitting around and wishing isn't going to make it suddenly better. Life isn't fair, least of all for us. Deal with it."

"So that's it?" Ria murmured. "You don't even care? You don't have any qualms about sending your twelve-year-old cousin into battle?"

I swallowed and forced myself to reply, "Of course I care. I'm just more willing to accept the inevitable than you are."

She laughed, a bitter laugh that broke from her lips in a rush of noise, and scoffed, "It's only inevitable because you won't try to fix it." And she turned and walked away.

Rubbing my weary eyes, I glanced back at the others. Dad and Chris were still there. I needed to tell someone about this informant, this Bianca.

Prue POV

"So she was a demon?" Freya asked for what felt like the millionth time. We were standing in a tight circle, Freya, Chris, Dad, Myst, Grishom, and another witch whom I didn't recognize. The last of the group was a new addition, someone that apparently Uncle Leo had brought into the fold a few weeks ago. I thought his name might have been Derek.

"She shimmered and she could conjure athames," I replied. "I don't know what else she could be."

"Some witches might have those powers," Myst said, tilting her head towards Freya. "But whatever she is, is she trustworthy?"

"She did save us," Chris pointed out. He glanced over at me and added, "If Prue hadn't gotten back to us in time, those demons would have killed me. This person who warned her… she could be good."

"And she could be playing us, waiting for the right opportunity to strike," Dad muttered.

Freya frowned at him. I knew she didn't like that Dad joined in all the strategy meetings. She still did not approve of him being here, being in a leadership position. He was a mortal, and that made him weak, good for nothing but becoming one of her subservient warriors. But Uncle Leo had been adamant that Dad be given whatever role in the Resistance he wanted, and he had opted to be a strategist.

"I think Jason is right," the newcomer said. "She can do far more damage by gaining our trust and then reporting to Wyatt than she can by just letting a few people die."

"Not to be rude, but who are you?" Chris asked. Clearly, he had not met this newcomer either.

"My name is Derek," the man replied. "I'm a witch. You're Chris Halliwell, right?" When Chris nodded, he added, "You're Dad brought me here." He said that as though it was supposed to make Chris instantly like him, but instead, Chris bristled.

"Then I guess you've seen more of my father lately than I have."

I winced, but didn't say anything. In all honesty, I was tired of my cousin's continual anger towards Uncle Leo. Yes, Uncle Leo had been suspicious of Chris in the beginning. But we all had, and Chris certainly had deserved it. And yes, when we were younger, Uncle Leo was always off helping innocents instead of coming to every single school play, but that was because there was an entire world out there that needed him. Whatever Aunt Piper may have thought, there is a bigger picture than our family, and I don't see a reason to be angry at Uncle Leo for actually knowing this. People are dying, and Chris wants to sulk because Daddy missed a play?

Chris was speaking again, and I forced myself to listen, "We aren't just a few witches, Derek. Prue and I are Halliwells, and Adam is practically one as well, even though he has a different last name."

"I know. To most of the mortal world, you symbolize fear and destruction and all the reasons we shouldn't trust magic," Derek shot back, bitter and disgusted. That surprised me. Although I knew that there were certainly mortals who did not separate between the Halliwells, or even between types of magic, I had not realized that any of the current inhabitants of Valhalla would think that way as well.

"Derek…" Dad warned, and the other man lapsed into silence, still glaring at Chris.

Chris took a breath and continued, "Perhaps. But to most demons, the name Halliwell carries quite a bit of weight. Killing us would have been seen as a huge triumph for Wyatt's regime. If this Bianca stopped that, she must have known what she was stopping."

"Do you think Wyatt would kill us?" Dad asked. Then he rephrased his question and said, "Do you think Wyatt would kill _you_?"

Chris expelled a breath, and we all watched him, waiting for his answer.

"I don't know," he said at last. "I don't think so, but…" He gave an apologetic shrug. "I guess I don't really know anymore."

He didn't say it, but I knew what he was thinking. None of us knew anything anymore, because none of us knew this new Wyatt.

"We need to be careful," Grishom said at last, finally adding his own thoughts to the conversation. "Don't trust her right away, but at least give her the opportunity to prove herself. We really can't afford to not pursue this chance."

"Can't we just test her?" Derek asked. "A truth spell or something?"

"If she really plans on betraying Wyatt, she has probably already worked out some way to get around that," Dad said heavily. "She must know the danger she is in, and she's probably taken some potion that would prevent her from being affected by a truth spell or potion."

It was a good point. If she was going to betray Wyatt, she'd have to be incredibly good at what she did. Which meant it would be unlikely that we would ever be able to catch her in a lie or find a clue about her true loyalties. We would know nothing, and she would have all the cards in her hands.

I didn't like it.

Shortly after, the meeting broke up. Chris and I left together, and as we did, I asked him quietly, "What do you think of Derek?"

Chris pursed his lips and replied, "He's going to be a problem."

I glanced over my shoulder in the direction Derek had walked away and wondered if Chris was right. This new witch was certainly held in high esteem if he had so quickly managed to get invited to strategy meetings. But at the same time, he clearly did not like any of us, and it was hard to say what he would do.

"And idea why your father brought him here and let him join our meeting?" I asked.

Chris shrugged. "How would I know?" he said sarcastically, before stomping away.

I didn't like any of this. Not the entire situation around this Bianca, not this newcomer Derek, not the anger between Chris and Uncle Leo, not the frustration coming from Ria. How much longer could we keep this all up? How much longer before it simply became too much to bear?

Normal POV

When she shimmered back to the house, Kaia was waiting.

Bianca glanced over at the witch and asked sharply, "What do you want?"

Kaia narrowed her eyes and said simply, "Lord Wyatt wants a report. Were you successful?"

Tossing her coat onto the chair, Bianca walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains, letting the sunlight illuminate the previously darkened room. "Of course," she replied derisively.

"So they trust you?" Kaia pressed.

Bianca rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she snapped. "Does Lord Wyatt really think his family is that quick to trust perfect strangers? I told him, and I've told you, it is going to take time."

"It's been several months since you agreed to do this," Kaia hissed. "How much longer is it going to take?"

"Do you want this done quickly or done well?"

Kaia glared viciously, but did not answer. Instead, she looked away from Bianca, studying the apartment. In a would-be causal tone, she said, "Make sure it is done well. You have comfortable lodgings and Wyatt's protection. You don't want to lose that, do you?"

"Get out, Kaia," Bianca said tiredly. "I don't need idle threats from you. I _will_ finish this, and Wyatt _will_ be pleased, but it _will_ be done on my time schedule."

Kaia offered a cold smile and said, "See that you stick to that promise," before leaving the Phoenix alone in the room.

After a few moments of silence, Bianca said, "I know you're there, Matt."

Matt stepped around the corner of the hallway and gave Bianca a quick look. "Was it wise to speak to Kaia like that? She's one of Wyatt's favorites, and she's powerful."

Bianca flashed a feral grin and replied, "And I'm sending the message that I don't kowtow to the second-best. You wanted me to help the Phoenixes, didn't you? Let Wyatt see that we'll answer to him, and no one else."

Matt frowned. "That's a narrow line to walk," he cautioned. "Be careful."

"I know what I'm doing," Bianca answered. "And I don't need you waiting in my apartment for updates. I can take care of myself."

"We're in this together," Matt answered. "You may be the one doing most of the work, but we are in this together because the outcome will affect all of us. Don't forget that, Bianca. You're not just working for yourself, you're working for your entire clan."

Bianca nodded slowly. "I know that," she replied, slightly annoyed by his constant reminders. He'd taken to spending hours wandering around her apartment while she tried to plan out her strategy, and it drove her insane.

"You didn't once," Matt accused, "and look what happened." With Tanya dead, the Phoenixes were scrambling to hold themselves together. It took a while to pick a new matriarch, especially when the old one had not had any children herself. In the meantime, they had to make do without a leader.

Bianca glared at Matt. "I can take care of this, Matt. I know what I'm doing."

"Good," Matt said simply. "Because the council has met to discuss a new matriarch and there is some talk that if you can pull this off, you would be the obvious choice." He did not sound pleased by this, and she knew he wasn't. She had always had the safety of her clan as her main priority, but after her mother's death, she'd drifted away from the others. Who wanted a matriarch who was out of touch with her clan?

"Lucky me," she drawled. She sank into one of the chairs and said, "Now leave, Matt. I have work to do."

Matt shimmered away, but not before giving her one last threatening look.

"I know the stakes," Bianca said to the empty room. "I know what I'm getting myself into. I can do this." And maybe if she said it enough times, the cold ball of doubt that had coalesced in her stomach would fade away.

Next Chapter: From the Pages of My Fantasies

Due: Sun 10/14


	21. From the Pages of My Fantasies

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: The chapter is in Chris' point-of-view and told in present tense. I was trying a new writing style.

* * *

People of Importance:

Daivd and Lila: Adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Grishom: A male witch and a member of the Resistance.

Leta: One of the Valkeries

All other characters who appear in this chapter are not my invention but are taken directly from the television show and should be familiar to anyone who has seen Season Six.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: From the Pages of My Fantasies

When Bianca contacts Prue again, I'm the only one she can find. Uncle Jason is busy talking to Daryl. Daryl keeps drawing further and further away from us, and Prue thinks it is because he blames us for everything that happened to the world, for the fact that he can never go back to his normal life. I guess Uncle Jason thinks he can somehow talk Daryl around, but I personally think he's fighting a losing battle. Daryl might be one of our closest family friends, but Shelia's dead at the hands of Wyatt's demons, and that matters more to him than anything else.

Ria is still fuming over the fact that Adam is joining in the Resistance now. She's basically taken to avoiding us all, and dragging Adam along with her. As if their absence will somehow prevent the rest of the world from catching up with them. Sooner or later, though, she's going to have to face reality.

We all have to do that.

God only knows where Dad is. Probably off saving some witch or mortal or other innocent. Freya's gone with him, I think, because Myst has been left in charge of the island. She's working out a dispute between David, and some of the mortals who are hiding here, and Lila is with Kyra creating new safe-houses.

Like I said, I'm the only one around, so Prue comes to me with the story.

She was out of Valhalla, following rumors of another attack by demons on a coven of witches in the northern part of the city. She, Leta, and Grishom went to investigate, and in the middle of their investigation, this elusive Phoenix appears and tells Prue that they need to talk. So they agree to meet near what used to be P3 later in the evening, and Prue wants me to come along as backup.

Which explains why now, at nine o'clock at night, I'm huddled in the cold, dark back alley behind the remains of my mother's club, watching as a stunningly beautiful assassin talks to my little cousin.

There voices float towards me on the wind, getting louder every second as Prue is apparently not pleased by whatever Bianca is saying.

"What do you mean? How can you not know?"

"Don't be a fool, witch. Lord Wyatt doesn't share his thoughts with everyone."

"Then what good is this news to us?"

"Would you have preferred to be caught by surprise, _little girl_?"

"How dare you…"

But the rest of Prue's retort is caught off by the sudden emergence of several demons who appeared in the alley in flashes of black and blue light. There are five of them, and although Prue and Bianca fall into automatic fighting stances, I am still racing from my hiding spot, prepared to defend them all.

So much for staying hidden.

The demons are large and brutal, and one of them makes straight for Prue. She raises her hands and conjured a stream of fire, but the demon easily steps to the side and it passes harmlessly behind him. Behind my cousin, Bianca is engaged in hand-to-hand combat with another demon, and I'm both surprised and impressed by how well she is holding her own.

The demon has Prue by the neck and two more are advancing on her, energy balls burning in their palms. I wave a hand, telekinetically throwing one demon away from Prue. The one who has her by the neck turns to face me, and I see the nails on his fingers extend, growing into long, incredibly sharp daggers.

He moves his hand, prepared to stab Prue through the throat. She is frozen, eyes wide with fear and horror, and even as I move to attack I know it is too late…

And then the demon howls in pain and drops Prue, and Bianca is standing over him as he falls to his knees, almost whimpering in pain. It takes a moment for me to realize what she is doing, but her hand is embedded in his back, and her arm is glowing with pulses of energy. She finally withdraws her closed fist and the demon crumples to the ground in front of her, weary and spent.

Prue stumbles away from the demon, reaching up with one hand to tenderly brush her bruised neck. Then, in a burst of resilience that comes from years of constantly fighting demons, Prue shoves herself to her feet and slams both her hands outwards, fire filling the air around her, crackling with heat and energy. She holds it steady, then flings it at the remaining demons, expanding the fire so that there is no chance that the other demons can escape.

The ground is littered with the ash of the vanquished demons, and only the ones unconscious at Bianca's feet remains alive. The Phoenix stares at it, then waves her hand, almost idly conjuring an energy ball and vanquishing the demon.

In the silence that has fallen over the three of us, Bianca turns to Prue and says, "Impressive. Of course, it would have been better to do that little trick with the fire before the demon had his hands around your throat," she adds sarcastically.

Prue hisses, "Why did you kill that last one? We could have questioned him, found out what he wanted."

"They work for Wyatt," the assassin says casually, clearly not concerned by Prue's anger. "I don't need to question them to know why they are here."

"They're tracking you?" Prue demands angrily. "I thought you said you could do this without detection. How can you spy for us if you keep getting caught?"

"I didn't get caught, did I?" Bianca snaps back. Her skin has flushed a dark crimson, but I can't tell if it is anger at Prue's words or exertion from the brief fight. Her gaze flicks from Prue to me, and she shakes her head for a moment, but I can't read her impression.

"Wyatt is going to want to know what happened to his demons," Prue still argues, not willing to back down yet. One thing about my cousin, she doesn't know when to just let something go. But Bianca does not seem particularly disturbed by any of this, and I can't help but thinking that Prue may have just found her match in this enigma.

"Let me worry about that," Bianca answers, her gaze still locked with mine. "Lord Wyatt is my problem, not yours."

"Right…" Prue drawls.

"Christopher Halliwell," Bianca says, not completely ignoring Prue. Prue bristles, obviously not liking her lack of control over the conversation, but I feel a warmth rising up in my chest as she observes me critically. "Good to see you survived the attack in the mall."

"Um…" I'm monetarily flustered, and feel like I am about to fall into the depths of her brown eyes. Her aura radiates dangerous power and everything about her is warning me that I need to be careful, but instead of remaining calm and collected, I find myself stuttering like a schoolboy on a first date. "Thanks for the… uh… warning…"

Bianca gives me a half-smile, one corner of her mouth turning up slightly. "Don't mention it," she answers, and I can see Prue rolling her eyes at the exchange.

"If you're done ogling her, Chris, can we get back to the important part of the conversation?" Prue asks pointedly.

Bianca shifts her attention back to Prue and retorts, "Fine. How about you explain why you brought your cousin along when I specifically told you to come alone?"

"Because I don't trust you," Prue answers bluntly, her hands on her hips. She glares up at Bianca defiantly, silently challenging the older witch to reprimand her.

But Bianca just smirks and says, "Well, it's about time one of you learned that you can't trust everyone." Then her expression darkens and she informs Prue, "Like I said before the attack, I can't tell you what Wyatt plans to do with these probes. But he's made them and he's going to use them for something."

"Probes?" I ask.

"Wyatt's developed probes," Prue answers heavily, turning to look at me. "They're like giant flying machines. According to our informant here," she jerks her head at Bianca, "they have the ability to scan a person. Determine their identity and if they have any magic."

"How is that possible?" I breathe, stunned.

"It's Wyatt," Prue murmurs softly. "Anything is possible."

"I'll gather as much information as I can. For right now, I think it is safe to assume that Lord Wyatt wants to have every magical being under his control, and this is one way of keeping track of us all. Keep your eyes open and be careful. I'll contact you again when I have more information."

"How?" I ask Bianca. "How will you find us?"

Bianca gives me a sly smile and answers, "Don't underestimate me, Christopher Halliwell. I'm good at what I do." And then she's gone, shimmering away.

Prue smacks me lightly on the arm. "God, Chris, could you be anymore obvious? You're practically drooling over her!"

"I am not!" I protest.

"Oh, please," Prue remarks, rolling her eyes. Slanting a look at me, she adds, "Just don't let your hormones cloud your judgment, lover boy. We can't trust her yet."

The easy banter between the two of us remind me of the way Wyatt and I used to interact, before Mom died and everything went to hell. That thought makes me sober, and I look away from Prue, not wanting her to see the pain in my eyes.

Prue looks at me, but if she notices my sudden change of expression, she says nothing. Instead, she nods to me, and I reach up and touch the pendant at my throat, the one I've borrowed from Leta for this mission. The portal opens before me, leading us back to Valhalla.

* * *

True to her word, Bianca contacts us with more information later in the week. This time, she approaches Dad while he's leading witches to safety, and when he gets back to Valhalla I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't know what to make of our new ally. 

"I don't like how easily she's managed to find us all, Leo," Freya says as Leo reports to her and a few others.

"She is a Phoenix," Dad answers with a sigh, and shakes his head. It's the first time I've seen him in several days, and he looks tired and worn. For a moment, I feel sympathetic, but then I remember just how tangled our relationship is and I let the sympathy fade. I don't need to waste my time or energy on him.

"So?" Myst says, annoyed. "We should still be better at avoiding her detection."

"Myst, Phoenixes are one of the most elite covens of witches that has ever lived. Their prowess as assassins, spies, and trackers in unrivaled by almost any other magical being, good or evil," Leo explains.

"Not to mention their fighting ability," Grishom adds from his spot sitting on a large rock at the edge of the clearing. The rest of us are standing in a circle, but he is old and worn down by all his years of living, so he sits as much as possible. The wear and tear that time has wrought on his body, however, does not affect his mind, and he is one of our best strategists.

At least, that's what Dad has said. I've never actually spoken to Grishom about his strategic ability, and have no desire to. I am still trying to ignore anything Dad says to me.

"Which is why the Phoenixes are a good addition to Wyatt's army," Kyra mutters.

The sun is shinning brightly, sending waves of warmth on all of us, but even so, I shiver at her words. Somehow, they bother me, as though the image of Bianca in combat in troubling. But I've seen her fight before, so I can't figure out where these thoughts are coming from. Why would I be concerned about her safety? We can barely trust her.

Right?

Prue glances across the group at me, one eyebrow quirked questioningly. I meet her gaze, daring her to say something, but she just offers me an amused and slightly disparaging smile. How can I explain to her this strange connection I feel with Bianca? How can I get her to understand this when I don't even understand it myself?

Was it like this when Mom and Dad first met? Did they stare at each other across the room and see their entire lives flash before their eyes? Did they feel this indescribably, unexplainable pull?

"What did she tell you?" Freya asks, her voice breaking into my thoughts, her attention fixed on Dad.

"It's worse than we thought," he answers grimly. "Wyatt's got his demons everywhere in government, and he's leaning on them to pass legislation that allows the use of these probes."

"Brilliant," David says. All eyes swing to him, somewhat incredulous at his proclamation, and he shrugs. "Well, it is," he says. "This way it looks as though the mortal government is requesting this, so those living in areas outside of Wyatt's control may not realize that he is behind it. At the same time, any magical being knows that it is his idea, and they aren't going to openly rebel for fear of him."

"Great," Dad says sarcastically, and I have never seen him look so old.

* * *

"Daryl, would you just listen…" 

"Why? So you can tell me that everything I'm feeling is wrong?"

I freeze, half-hidden behind the trees, and listen to the rise and fall of voices. Uncle Jason and Daryl are talking, and I can tell by the tone of Daryl's voice that this conversation is not going well. He sounds angry and Uncle Jason sounds frustrated.

"I don't think you're wrong," Uncle Jason starts, but Daryl cuts him off, his voice raised slightly.

"Of course you do. Just like Leo did," he snaps back.

I slide forward a few inches, remaining as quiet as possible, and peer through the branches and leaves of the bush in front of me. Uncle Jason is blocking Daryl's path, and Daryl, who has his back turned towards me, is pressing his hands outward, as though he had attempted to push Jason out of the way.

"Daryl, I understand how lost you feel right now…"

"Really?" Daryl interrupts, yet again. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"Hey, I lost Phoebe," Uncle Jason snaps, and unbidden, the memory of his face at her funeral rises before my eyes. I can still see him perfectly, the anguish that ripped through his features that day as he clung tightly to Prue.

"Well, then I guess you understand me perfectly," Daryl says coldly. "Because all loss is exactly alike, right?" Jason looks at him, his expression baffled, and Daryl sighs. He steps backwards, turning away so that he is facing me now as well. Running a hand through his hair, he says quietly, "You got something out of this, Jason. You got Prue. What did I get?"

"Years of knowing the sisters?" Uncle Jason suggests pointedly. "The knowledge that you are doing the right thing, fighting the good fight?"

Daryl gives a little shake of his head, impatience appearing in his eyes. "At what cost?"

"Do you really see it like that? A scale of gains and losses? Do you expect everything to be equal, to be fair?" Uncle Jason demands, walking around Daryl and staring at him again.

"More than twenty-five years, Jason. More than a quarter of a century," Daryl says, his voice quiet. "That's how long I've done this, that's how long I've known the sisters. That's how long I've helped them with their missions and their projects and their plans. _Twenty-five years_."

"Evil doesn't go away just because you get tired," Uncle Jason argues.

Daryl grin coldly, ironically, and it makes him look almost inhuman for a moment, like someone who has been twisted by unimaginable pain. "I watched those demons murder my wife, and I was completely powerless to do anything."

"Daryl…"

Daryl shakes him head again and looks away. I can't see either of their expressions now, but the silence practically screams with its intensity.

"Twenty-five years, and I heard Piper say over and over how all she ever wanted was a normal life for her family. A demon free existence. She couldn't give it to either of her sons, to any of you, but she could have given that to me. She could have let go, she could have…" There's a pause, then Daryl finally finishes, "It just felt like they never even cared about what I wanted. And I was willing to do it for all those years because I knew that, even if the sisters didn't care about how much this was messing up my life, they still cared about _me_. But now… And now they're gone, and Wyatt's evil, and Shelia's dead at the hands of his demons, and you want me to _help_?"

"Do you hate us?" Uncle Jason murmurs, his voice filled with emotion. I can tell that Daryl's speech has bothered him, and he doesn't know now whether or not he is right to want the other man's help.

"No. I hate what this world has become."

Uncle Jason takes a few steps away. "After Phoebe and Paige died, I tried to leave the family. No… permanently, but just… get out of the Manor. I moved Prue and I back into the penthouse." He's still looking at Daryl, and I'm remembering that day when Grandpa told me that Uncle Jason and Prue were leaving us. "I saw what was happening to the family, and I… I think I saw it more clearly than anyone else did. But Leo was always gone, Richard was spiraling out of control, Wyatt had already started turning, and Victor was dying. And I wanted what was best for my daughter, which was definitely not to be in that house while we all destroyed ourselves."

"And let me guess," Daryl retorts sarcastically, "you realized how horrible of an idea it was and went back right away."

"No," Uncle Jason answers honestly. "It was probably the best thing I ever did for Prue. But eventually I did come back. The family fell to pieces, and I had to be there to hold everything together." There's a silence, a long beat in which nothing is said, and then Uncle Jason continues, "I understand what you are feeling. And your anger is perfectly legitimate. But sooner or later, you're going to realize you can't escape from it all. No matter how far and how fast you run, you always end up back here."

He leaves, and after a minute, Daryl drifts away as well.

I remain still, thinking over everything I have heard. I always knew that Mom wanted a normal life for us, but that it just wasn't possible. Was Daryl right, had she been selfish in depriving him of that opportunity? Did she just take for granted that he would always be there? Did anyone ever wonder if maybe what they were doing was putting his family in danger again and again? Shelia's death was the fault of Wyatt's demons, but was it our fault as well for doing this to him?

And yet, wasn't it true that life isn't fair to anyone? Does Daryl have a right to complain when we had all been forced into this path ourselves? None of us want it, and none of us had been given a choice.

But…

We don't have a choice because of who we are. Daryl doesn't have a choice because we took it away from him. Can we really justify our actions by complaining that life is not fair? Is the pain and fear and danger that is forced upon us a good enough reason to force it all upon someone else?

By the time I step out of my hiding spot, everything has changed, and I can't help but think over Uncle Jason's last words as they echo in my mind.

_No matter how far and how fast you run, you always end up back here._

* * *

Next Chapter: From the Pages of My Past 

Due: Sun 10/21


	22. From the Pages of My Past

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This is told in Leo's POV. Remember the half-manticore baby from Season Six? Did anyone else find it odd that Chris would be so adamant that the baby was evil? After all, wasn't he trying to prove that nurture was more important than nature and that Wyatt could be saved?

Unless he had a reason for not trusting the half-demon child...

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: From the Pages of My Past

_No… don't you dare say it. Don't say anything about rules, Leo, because he is your son. There are no rules._

I remember meeting Piper. I remember watching her, the laughter in her eyes, the bright smile on her face. I remember her fiery determination and her strength and her stubbornness.

I remember her lifeless body on the floor and Chris' wails of horror and Wyatt's darkened eyes.

At night, when I close my eyes, I see her face. In the morning, when I wake up, I expect to see her lying next to me. Even after all these years, I still don't know how to live without her.

_All the Elders ever think about is the Greater Good. And to hell with everything else. What about me? What about my family, Leo? What about us?_

I remember the way she hummed when she moved around the kitchen. I remember her skilled hands deftly cracking eggs into the mixing bowl while Chris watched, silent with awe. I remember her patience as she helped Wyatt with yet another math problem or explained to him the importance of grammar and spelling.

And I remember her tumultuous emotions, her passions, her hopes, and her fears.

_I can't do this. Without Prue… I don't understand, Leo. Why should I have to do this? Why should I have to sacrifice everything, over and over?_

* * *

I don't like Bianca. Chris would tell me that I need to give her a chance, that I'm too prejudiced, too judgmental. Chris would tell me a lot of things, but I still don't like Bianca.

And I like her even less now than I did the last time we crossed paths.

Her ability to find any of us once we leave Valhalla is nerve-wracking, and I can only hope that she will never decide to lead Wyatt and his demons to us. So far, she has only come to deliver messages, warnings. But I've lost too much in this lifetime to trust an assassin witch, even one who claims to be on my side.

I don't like Bianca.

She grabs my arm and pulled me out of sight behind the ruined house. The grass is scorched and brown, the air heavy with smoke. This part of the city is always like this, dirty and ruined and dismal. But today, with the metallic probes flying through the air, scanning every person who walks by, I can't help but think that it is even less welcoming than before.

"For God's sake, white-lighter, _listen_ to me."

"Right, trust as assassin," I drawl, horrified to find the acidic sarcasm so easily rolls off my tongue. When did I become this person? When did I become so bitter?

"Derek is not your friend," she argues, and I raise my eyebrows.

"Derek is…"

"Going to get you killed," she interrupts, furious at me. I can see the dangerous glint of anger in her eyes, and think to myself that she is not someone I would ever like to fight.

"He just wants to save his son," I argue, and I know exactly what that feels like. How can I turn my back on someone who is in the same position as me? How can I ignore the plea of a father who has lost his son?

"Will is a demon. A murdering demon," the assassin says patiently, her tone softening as though she understands how important this is to me. "Derek can't save him."

"I don't believe that," I say.

"Did you tell anyone in Valhalla exactly who Derek is?" she questions. "Or did you lie?"

I don't answer. What can I say? No one asked me any questions when I brought him there, and I let them all think what they wanted. He joined out inner circle quickly, his strategic abilities useful to us. And if everyone wanted to think that he was a witch, who was I to reveal his secret?

"He came to us once before," I admit finally, and I see the comprehension appear in Bianca's eyes.

"He asked for your help and you failed him," she murmurs slowly. "And now you can't turn your back on him because you don't want to fail him twice."

"He wants to save his son," I repeat. "As do I."

"The difference, white-lighter, is that you're able to see the bigger picture. You understand that you have to save the world as well. Derek doesn't see that. And he will sacrifice you all if it means saving Will. He will do it in a heartbeat."

"You don't know that," I spit, crossing my arms over my chest.

Bianca sighs. "You're right," she says at last. "I don't know that. I don't know Derek. But I know Will, and I know that he can't be saved. So tell me, white-lighter, when you have to make a choice between vanquishing your friend's son or letting him destroy you… what will you do?"

She shimmers away before I can answer, and I stare at the spot where she stood and wonder what the hell I've managed to get myself into this time.

* * *

It happened years ago, before Chris was born but after we'd had Wyatt. Derek, or the Beast as Piper fondly called him, had come to us for help. Or, rather, we'd accidentally stumbled across him while trying to deal with a clan of Manticores that were intent on eating us.

His son, Will, was half-Manticore. He looked like a human child, and we'd discovered him left behind after we'd vanquished his mother. Not knowing what else to do, Phoebe and Paige had opted to bring him back home, and Piper had looked after him while I asked the Elders what to do with a half-demon child.

In the middle of all this, the Beast came and tried to take the child. We didn't know who he was at the time, and we didn't know that Will was his son, so, of course, we fought back. And he kidnapped Piper in an effort to force us into returning his son to him. Piper had gotten to know him after he kidnapped her, and she discovered that he really was a nice guy.

But we didn't know that, and Paige and Phoebe made a pact with the Manticores that they would return the demonic child to it's mother's clan, and the Manticores would help us free Piper. And the plan worked out wonderfully, except that Derek almost died, and the demons took the child and disappeared. I was able to heal Derek, and he transformed back into a mortal, but we were never able to save his son. The Manticores vanished like smoke in the wind, taking their newest member with them.

Something that I don't think Derek has ever forgiven us for.

So when he came to me and said that he had found his son, and he needed my help, how was I suppose to refuse? Even if Will was working for Wyatt, it didn't mean he was part redemption. He had been good once, and he could be good again.

Right?

* * *

When I finally return to Valhalla, I discover that Derek has managed to make himself wildly unpopular with Chris and my nieces and nephew. His snide remarks about the Halliwell's continued failures are lost on the children, who don't understand the history, don't understand his anger. But he is angry, and I can't blame him for that.

Still, it doesn't mean I have to like his attitude.

"Stop is, Derek," I say, frustrated. "You want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. I did this to you, not any of them. They weren't even born when we lost Will."

Derek glares at me and answers coldly, "And yet somehow they are still managing to grow up with exactly the same stupidity as their parents."

"Derek," I snap, "don't." He can insult me, but he cannot insult my son. Or Piper.

Derek falters, then sighs and looks away. "I'm sorry, Leo," he says, and his words are heartfelt. "Believe me, it isn't my goal to make Chris miserable. I just…"

"Just what?" I press, wondering if I want to know the answer. What has he seen in Chris, in all of us, that would cause such uncontrollable fury?

"He is so much like you," he answers at last. "So much like you and Piper and the other two sisters…" He trails off and give a slight shrug. "You were always so sure that you knew best."

I expel a breath, choosing my words carefully. "We're in charge of protecting people. If saving lives. And no matter what anyone tells you about Good and Evil, things are rarely that simple, that clear-cut. We don't know best, but we have to assume that we do, because if we always second-guess ourselves… we'd never win."

"You haven't one," Derek counters. "Wyatt doesn't wonder about all his decisions now, does he? He believes he knows what is right and what is wrong. And look where that has gotten him."

I don't answer.

"I just want my son back," Derek murmurs.

"There are… people… who don't think your son can be saved," I tell him. I don't know why I am saying this. I don't know why I don't use Bianca's name, since he certainly knows about her. But I don't want to give him any more information than absolutely necessary, and I can't help but wonder if that means that I'm starting not to trust him.

"There are people who don't think your son can be saved either," Derek shoots back.

I quell the desire to hit him. My pacifist tendencies have disappeared lately, and I'm too damn angry to care about it. The world has gone to hell, the Elders have sealed the heavens, and I have no idea how I am supposed to save everyone. We're holding our lives together by threads right now, and I have to believe that Wyatt can be saved or I don't have any idea what I'm fighting for.

"I've seen my son," I reply finally, forcing myself to remain calm. "I watched him grow up. I know there is good in him. You… you haven't seen Will. You don't know…"

"I know enough," Derek snarls. He turns away from me, his entire body shaking with rage.

"Derek…?"

He glances at me over his shoulder. "I never told you how I found him."

"No." I'd asked, but he didn't want to talk about it, and I hadn't seen a reason to push. But if he wanted to tell me now, maybe it would help. Maybe I could start to understand him better. Maybe I could help him heal.

"A couple days before you found me… I saw him. I'd still been trying to find him, even after all these years, and I guess he heard that someone was asking questions about Manticores. He came to investigate… he thought I was a witch. He walked into my house and I… He looked so much like me. I knew it then, and I think… when he looked at me… he knew who I was, too. I could see the realization in his eyes."

"What happened?"

He looks away from me again. "He told me that, as a favor, he wouldn't kill me. Because we shared blood. But I had to drop the investigation. If I didn't… If I kept trying to find him, he couldn't stop the others of his clan from killing me."

I reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder.

"After all those years," he says, so softly I can barely hear him, "I'd found him. And he just turned and walked out the door."

* * *

I saw Will once. We were helping a group of young witches, all still teenagers, escape from the Underworld. They'd been captured and I don't know what would have happened to them if we hadn't rescued them.

He came into the cave. I didn't know it was him at the time, although he looked familiar. It wouldn't occur to me until much later, until I ran into Derek, that this demonic boy must be his son. Because at the time, I was too busy trying to avoid his teeth and claws to think that maybe he had some good in him, maybe he could be saved.

He was vicious. One of the witches we saved had ragged claw marks traveling up and down her back. She'd said that he was the one who had attacked her, and he'd inflicted those wounds after she'd already been knocked to the ground and subdued.

I didn't tell Derek this. I never told him about the brief encounter with Will. I didn't want him to know.

I knew how much he wanted his son saved. I knew how much I wanted my son saved.

I wonder, had I known all along that we were both two fools, holding onto dreams that wouldn't come true?

* * *

It is two days after the conversations with Bianca and Derek that the news of the attack comes, and I know that, for the rest of my life, I will wonder if the Phoenix assassin had played a role in making this all happen the way it did.

Freya hears the word and panics. We don't know how or why, but Wyatt himself is leading this attack, and Myst and Kyra, both out on reconnaissance missions, have walked directly into his traps. By the time Freya, Lila, and I arrive, the place is a wasteland of devastation. Myst and Kyra are still fighting, but there are several dead witches on the ground, members of a coven we were trying to save.

I scan the area for Wyatt. He's gone, and I can't sense his presence anywhere. He must have already left, but I can't understand why. He would want the pendants Myst and Kyra have, it's what he has been after for all this time. Without them, he can't get into Valhalla, he can't get to us. Does he trust that the demons can win without his help? Does he trust them not to fail?

Before I can think on these questions, however, I see something else that makes my blood run cold.

Will.

He's fighting Kyra, his eyes flashing dangerously as he parried her blows. They are evenly matched, a remarkable feat considering how well skilled Valkeries are. But Will is fighting desperately, his gaze flicking constantly to the pendant on Kyra's neck. She is loosing ground, backing away from him, and he is slowly gaining the upper hand.

I am glad Derek isn't here.

Then I hear his voice, cold and twisted and so different from how I remember it, and turn to look into my son's blue eyes. This is not the boy I remember. This is not the toddler who I raised, the baby who I doted on. This is not my son, not anymore. This is someone else entirely, someone who has latched onto his soul and refuses to give way.

"Hello, Dad."

"Wyatt," I breathe, the word escaping my partially-open lips. "Why are you doing this?" I ask the question, thinking even as I say the words that it is pointless. I can't reason with him anymore, I know that. I've known it for a while, since he started working with demons, since he started referring to himself as Lord Wyatt. I can't talk to him like his father because I'm not.

"You are fighting against me," Wyatt answers simply. "Your own son. And you think what I am doing is wrong?"

"It is wrong," I hear myself say. Around me, others are fighting. Freya has taken on several demons, and they fall to ashes at her feet. Prue is throwing fire from her hands, letting it crackle through the air. But witches are falling as well. The entire coven has been murdered, and the ground is running red with blood.

I can't think about any of this. I look into Wyatt's eyes, and the rest of the world falls away.

I have not seen him in months, not since he changed. Chris told me that he'd seen Wyatt on the anniversary of Piper's death, that Wyatt had been at the gravesite. It gave me hope to hear that my son still mourned his mother's passing, but that was several months ago, and the world is changing.

And Wyatt is changing with it.

"Mom, the Aunts, Uncle Richard… all dead because of your stupid Greater Good," Wyatt snaps, voice a low growl. "I can keep that from happening, I can protect all of us. Why do you fight this?"

"You've lost sight of yourself, Wyatt. You've lost sight of everything that made you who you are. You're not… you're not my son. My son wouldn't do this. My son wouldn't disgrace his mother's memory."

"And my father would never have let my mother be murdered," Wyatt retorts. I step back, the barbed comment hitting too close to home, but I can see something in Wyatt's eyes, and I know I've hurt him also.

"Your mother would not have wanted any of this to happen," I counter. "You've driven us all away. Me, Jason, Prue, Ria, Adam… and Chris."

"You took Chris away from me," Wyatt yells, his voice rising above the sound of the battle. "You turned him against me, you made him think I was evil. You ruined this family, _Dad_, not me."

"Chris wanted to leave," I say, and watch as his calm mask crumbles and falls.

"How dare you!" he screams, and the ground shakes around us.

He orbs away, his lights black and blue. I don't know why he didn't attack me, I may never be able to understand my son. He's so lost, but there are little bits of good in him. I don't think he would actually physically hurt me, or any of our family, but he seems to have no trouble destroying everything else.

I look around. Most of the demons are gone.

And Kyra is dead.

Her body fades as Will rips the pendent from her throat and looks over at me, triumph clear on his face.

Freya calls the pendant to her. As the leader of the Valkeries, she can summon anything that belongs to her clan, and Kyra's pendant appears in her hands. The remaining survivors move towards Will, but he is gone before they can catch him, and Freya stares at the spot where Kyra's body lay, her face devoid of any expression.

* * *

When we get back to Valhalla, Jason rushes forward to make sure Prue is alright, then demands an explanation of what happened. Freya is too weary to give it, and she wanders away, still holding Kyra's pendent. Chris and Ria come, followed by Grishom and Lila. Derek approaches as well, and I hold his gaze for a moment, wondering what I am supposed to tell him.

"What happened?" Ria asks, as usual her perceptive eyes see through my attempt at nonchalance.

"Kyra's dead," I say bluntly.

"How?" Lila breathes, obviously hurt.

I hesitate. "A demon," I say finally. "A demon killed her."

* * *

I remember meeting Piper. I remember watching her, the laughter in her eyes, the bright smile on her face. I remember her fiery determination and her strength and her stubbornness.

But mostly, I remember her words.

_There is no bigger picture than my family._

And as I look around this world, I realize just how wrong she always was.

* * *

Next Chapter: Irrational

Due: Sun 10/28


	23. Irrational

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter is written from Ria's viewpoint, except for the very last section, which goes back to normal POV.

* * *

People of Importance:

David and Lila: adult witches who escaped to Valhalla, there they befriended Ria and Adam despite the fact that most people hate all Halliwells right now.

Kaia: a witch who works for Wyatt.

Matt: a Phoenix, and Bianca's distant cousin. He showed up in _The Lost Future_, but his personality is very different here.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: Irrational

Ria POV

Everything was different after Kyra died.

We hadn't lost one of the Valkeries before, and it had shaken the Resistance to its very foundations. Uncle Leo withdrew into himself more and more. He was always gone, either leading witches and mortals to safety, protecting other members of the magical community, or trying to gather information. Prue, too, seemed changed, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what was different about her. She'd gotten darker, somehow, and I didn't like it.

But it was Freya who was the most changed. Before, she'd put up with the constant chaos of the Resistance on her island. Now, she seemed angry at everyone, angry all the time. She didn't like to see people just hanging out, doing nothing. It was almost as though their lack of work was a personal affront to her. She was not tolerant and she was not nice, and both Chris and Uncle Jason received the most of her fury. Her old prejudice against them came out, and while I could see that she was struggling to control it, she was not completely successful.

* * *

The day after Kyra's death, Chris came back to Valhalla with a request. He spoke to Freya, and then briefly to Uncle Leo. I never heard either of those conversations, and I can't help but wonder what was said during them. But when we convened as a larger group, I got the surprise of a lifetime. 

Chris made the announcement, and it was, quite predictably, Prue who started yelling.

"You agreed to work with her?" my older cousin practically screeched, obviously unable to comprehend what exactly Chris had been thinking. Her eyes flicked to Freya and Leo, both of whom stared impassively back, waiting for the rest of her outburst. "You agreed to work with a Phoenix?" she continued. "An assassin witch? Are you out of your mind? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"She saved my life in the mall," Chris countered softly. "She's brought us information on numerous occasions. All at great personal risk to herself."

Prue did not drop the argument. Shaking her head, she said reluctantly, "She's done a lot of good for us, I don't deny that." Then her stare hardened and she added, "But she is an assassin. How can we trust that this isn't all part of some master plan? How do we know that she isn't a double agent? That Wyatt didn't send her after us?"

"I agree with Prue," Lila said. "She may have helped us in the past, but that doesn't mean that she is going to help us now. She's too secretive, she doesn't tell us how she gets her information. And I still don't trust her motives."

"Innocent until proven guilty," Chris retorted swiftly, and I had to bite back the urge to tell him he spent too much time watching courtroom dramas.

"Don't you think working as an assassin for Wyatt has proven her guilty already?" Prue asked pointedly. Her voice was acidic, her smile bitter and ironic.

She had a point, I thought. She would have made a good lawyer. Great on cross-examinations.

"She betrayed him," Chris answered. "Doesn't that prove her innocent?" That was a good point also, but unfortunately I just didn't believe it. We didn't know enough about Bianca to trust her so easily, and Chris wasn't thinking clearly anyway. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was lusting after her, and that was not a good sign.

I glanced at Uncle Leo. He looked worried. I wondered what he was thinking.

"We have only her word that she actually betrayed him," David said. Of course he would be opposed to this. Lila was opposed to it, and he went along with pretty much everything she said. Which meant that his opinion wasn't exactly believable. After all, is he was just reiterating Lila's stance, then why should we listen to him? He wasn't actually thinking for himself.

"Look," Chris said, his voice and expression clearly conveying how thin his patience was, "I get what you guys are saying. And if she does betray us, I will vanquish her myself. But right now, we have too few friends, too many enemies, and too little time to be turning our backs on someone who may be an asset." He glanced at all of us with a piercing stare. "For now, we trust her. End of discussion." He turned and walked forcefully away.

David smirked. "Three guesses what that boy is thinking with," he muttered, watching the witch-lighter storm away.

Prue shot David an annoyed look while Lila added, "Well, it certainly isn't his head."

"When did Chris get to call the shots around here?" I asked Uncle Leo. "I thought that was you and Freya." Freya wasn't here, she hadn't joined in the meeting. I had no idea where she was or what she was doing, but Uncle Leo's face got a hard, distant look in it, and I knew that there were going to be problems.

"Freya isn't thinking clearly right now," Uncle Leo said simply. "And I think Chris is right about this. I think Bianca could be helpful."

"Since when?" I demanded, raising my eyebrows.

He didn't answer right away. David and Lila were looking at him, as was Prue. We all wanted to hear his answer, but I think I already knew at that point that it wasn't going to make any sense to me.

"Things have changed, Ria," he said finally. It wouldn't be until later that I understood what he meant.

* * *

I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I honestly didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just… did. 

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this, Leo." It was Freya's voice, filled with anger, that came floating to me on the wind. I crept forward, crouching low behind the bushes and listening to their conversation.

"I know. I cared about Kyra as well, Freya," Uncle Leo replied heavily. 'But you have to understand… this is something worth dying for. Kyra knew that."

"Did she?" Freya asked. "Or was she simply following my instructions?" She turned away from Uncle Leo, and I wondered suddenly if she was going to cry. Could Kyra have been that important to her? The Valkeries all referred to each other as sisters; was it possible that Freya felt for Kyra what I feel for Adam?

I tried to imagine how devastated I would have been had he died. I couldn't even begin to comprehend that kind of pain.

"For God's sake, Leo, the boy is a murderer, and you want to protect him?" Freya continued.

"He has good in him, Freya. I know he does," Uncle Leo argued.

"No, you want to think that. Because you don't want to have to let Derek down. Again. But he killed Freya. That monster killed my sister."

"He's half-human!" Uncle Leo snapped.

"And he's half-demon," Freya answered. She glared at Uncle Leo for a moment, then said, "But I guess we're okay working with demons, aren't we?"

Uncle Leo rolled his eyes. "You're the one who told Chris you had no problem working with Bianca. I still have my reservations, but you wanted to do it."

"I want to stop Wyatt from destroying all of us. And I have to work with an assassin witch to bring down the empire that your son caused, I will do it!" Freya snarled. Her body was shaking, and I could see Uncle Leo backing away slightly, as though he was afraid he might have pushed her too hard. Her eyes were narrowed into thin slits and her lips curled into a sneer.

We never really thought it through. We came to Valhalla because we needed a safe place to be. I don't think any of us had ever really wondered what would happen if we started to fall apart like this. We had no backup plan, no way of coping without Freya, and here she was, tottering dangerously close to the drink of destruction. What had happened to the calm and collected woman I had known? The survivor, the fighter?

"Kyra's death isn't a reason to throw all caution to the winds," Uncle Leo said. "Do you want to destroy Valhalla?"

"She was my sister, Leo," Freya said bitterly. "And now she's dead. Because of all of you."

"When the final battle comes…"

"This isn't the final battle," Freya interrupted.

"How do you know that?" Uncle Leo countered swiftly before Freya had a chance to continue her argument. "How do you know that this isn't exactly what you've been preparing for all along?"

Freya gave an ironic laugh. "Do you think your son is the Source of All Evil? Is he the threat we've all been told will one day ruin us? If this is the final battle, your son must die. And doesn't that necessarily go against everything you keep trying to convince yourself?"

Uncle Leo didn't answer. For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other. Finally, Freya broke the silence.

"If this was the final battle, then I would have no hesitation in sending my sisters and my warriors to fight. Like you said, that is something worth dying for. But if this is the final battle, then you need to accept that it must be won at all costs, including the death of your son. Don't tell me that I should let my sisters die when you won't even comprehend loosing your sons." She turned and walked away, and a few moments later, I left as well.

I don't know how long Uncle Leo stood there. He didn't come to dinner.

* * *

"Chris?" It took me a while to find my cousin. He had found a shady spot by one of the many waterfalls, and curled up into a ball on in the grass. He looked up at my approach and offered a wan smile, and I wondered what thoughts of his I had interrupted. 

"Hey, Ria," he said.

"Hey." I sat down next to him on the grass, and glanced at his hands. He'd torn up a few clumps of grass and was twisting the individual shoots of green between his fingers. "You were very in charge today during the meeting," I said.

"Someone had to do it," Chris answered. He gave me a hesitant look, as though unsure of just how much he should say. "Freya and Dad are… not getting along."

I bit back a retort about that being the understatement of the century and simply nodded.

"People die all the time," Chris added, looking past me towards the waterfall. "It just hits a lot closer to home when it is someone you care about." His voice was filled with an emotion I could never quite identify, but knew exactly how it felt. It was the strange combination of anger and grief and relief when it was someone else who had died, someone you didn't care about as much. We'd all lost too many people to want to lose anymore, but I remembered Freya's furious face and grief-filled words and wondered how long we would be able to survive this new turn-of-events.

"She cared about Kyra. The Valkeries are sisters." I wrapped my arms around my knees, pulling my legs into my chest. "What do you know about Derek?" I asked.

Chris looked at me sharply, and I looked away. "I…" He faltered, seemingly at a loss for words.

"You knew," I accused. "You knew why he was really here."

"How do you know?" Chris asked, surprised.

"I overhead Uncle Leo and Freya talking about it. I don't know the details, but… I got the general gist." I gave Chris a piercing look. "Can you tell me the whole story?"

Chris shrugged. "I only know what I heard from a couple of the witches I was talking to right after Kyra died. Dad and Freya were not exactly… quiet… in their arguments, and I picked up bits and pieces…" He paused, unsure, then said, "His son is half-manticore and words for Wyatt. He's the one who killed Kyra. Derek wants to save him, and Dad wants to help, but…" Again, he lapsed into silence, so I finished the thought for him.

"Freya wants revenge."

"Yes," Chris said. He didn't elaborate, there was no need to, we both knew exactly what it meant for Valkeries to get revenge.

"Why didn't you tell me this when you first learned the truth?" I asked.

Chris gave me a searching look. "You're just a kid, Ria," he said finally. "Maybe you grew up quickly, but you're still just a kid. I didn't want to… burden you with it."

"Burden me?" I was torn between righteous indignation that Chris would consider me too young to know the truth about such things and touched by the fact that he wanted to protect me. But my practical side won out, and I said pointedly, "I have to be burdened with this type of thing, Chris. In this world, I can't afford not to."

Chris dropped back onto the grass. "Do you even understand what it means?" he asked, looking up at the sky, and I wondered how much he had changed, and why I had never noticed it. He was older now, and… different. I couldn't explain it, but he just… He seemed to have grown up suddenly, become more of a man and less of a child.

"Freya is angry at Uncle Leo," I answered.

Chris shook his head. "Freya's not angry, she's livid. And she's the only reason we're still here. If Dad can't open his eyes long enough to see that we need to stay on her good side, she'll kick us all to the curb. But they're too busy being at each other's throats that they don't even remember to lead us anymore."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say. "So you are taking charge to fill their… uh, vacancies?" I suggested.

Chris nodded.

In an effort to break the serious nature that had fallen over the conversation, I said teasingly, "And there I thought it was because you wanted to see Bianca more."

Chris flushed, a dull red climbing up his neck and into his face. He sat up and swatted at my arm, but he was smiling slightly, a goofy look on his face.

"She's something else," he said.

"Yes," I deadpanned. "We can it an assassin."

Chris rolled his eyes and glared at me. "You going to lecture me also? Prue doesn't think my continued fraternization with the Phoenix is a good idea. It might impair my judgment."

I laughed. "That does sound like something Prue would say. Although, I expected her to relish the opportunity to mock you at every available moment."

"Mm… me, too," Chris admitted. "I guess she went for the angry yelling instead."

"Ah…" I grinned. That really did sound like my cousin. "Well, I'll play the annoying family member role, then," I offered. "I can show Bianca all your old baby pictures. You know, the ones of you trying to dress yourself and putting socks on your ears and underwear on your head."

Aunt Piper loved photographs. She'd keep them all over the house, and after she died, the remained behind, a lasting tribute to her fanatic desire for picture memories. I spent a lot of time looking at them when I was younger, particularly those of my parents and Aunts Piper and Phoebe. I was afraid I would forget what they looked like if I didn't continually remind myself of their features.

But Chris did not join in my reminiscence. Instead, he said softly, "We don't have those photographs anymore, Ria. Wyatt has them… in the museum."

We were both silent for a moment. I hadn't seen this museum, but Chris had, and I wondered what he thought of it. He never mentioned it much, just like he never really talked about the old Wyatt, the one who had still been our family. But as I looked at him, I realized I had been wrong about my assumptions. I always thought that he did not talk about these things because he didn't want to remember. Now, looking at his eyes, I knew he didn't talk about them because he didn't think other people wanted the reminders.

But he would never, _could_ never, forget.

"What was Wyatt like… before?" I asked.

"He was… responsible. He wanted to protect me… all of us. He taught me how to add and subtract and… He used to help Mom cook, but he was absolutely horrible at it. She would joke that he would poison us all one day… He read a lot at night… story books and things… and sometimes he'd color with me or… play with blocks…"

Chris smiled at me, his eyes misty and filled with a strange light I hadn't seen in a long time. It took me a moment to realize it was happiness.

"He was annoying, also. He'd get upset if I interrupted him when he wanted to be left alone. Of course, I was five or six at the time, so I didn't understand… He was what you'd expect a big brother to be. He was… family."

"I wish I had those memories," I said.

Chris shrugged. "He did other things, though," he said softly, his voice getting even quieter. "He was protective, but he was… he fought a lot. At school, if other boys picked on me, or on Prue… At the time, I always thought that it was just… just what brothers did. Maybe it is, but now I can't help but wonder if it wasn't a sign that he was going down the wrong path… from the very beginning. Looking back, I can see the change that happened so drastically after Mom died, but what if it was even before that? What if he was always just… different?"

* * *

Myst brought Bianca to Valhalla. It wasn't as much of a security risk as everyone seemed to think, because Wyatt knew we were here and couldn't get to us without a pendant. And no one was about to give one to her. Still, it was jarring to see the assassin walking through the lush underbrush, taking everything in with a quiet calm. 

She was alone when I stumbled upon her. She was staring into a pool of water, watching her own reflection jarred by the ripples on the surface. Her hair was blowing in the breeze, and her hands rested at her sides, fingers pressed against the dark fabric of her clothing.

I stood back, hiding from her sight. Watching her with a confused gaze, I noted as one hand lifted to her neck and touched a silver chain that she wore around her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice filling the air. "If I had known… I would have saved her, Mom. You know I would have." She fell into a silence, then ran a hand through her hair. "Didn't anyone tell you it's impolite to eavesdrop?" she said, not turning around.

I stepped into the small clearing. "Who were you talking to?" I demanded.

"My mother," the Phoenix replied, turning around and giving me a scrutinizing stare. "So you're little Ria?" she asked, her tone slightly mocking. "You're going to have to learn how to sneak up on people a bit better than that if you have any chance of surviving this war."

"I don't need to sneak around," I shot back. "I don't spy on people." Bianca didn't answer, just stared at me calmly, and I found myself asking. "Can your mother hear you?"

"Can your mother hear you?" Bianca replied.

I didn't say anything. She must have known that my mother was dead, and the comment was meant to imply that hers had passed away as well. I wondered what had killed her, and why, but I decided not to ask. It seemed safer to speak of something else, something not as bitter or filled with past grief and pain.

Finally, I asked, "Who was it that you weren't able to save?"

"My Aunt," she answered. "I…" She gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "When I learned that she was in danger, it was too late."

Against my better judgment, I felt my heart go out to her. She was so much older than me, the pain on her face was just as real as anything I had ever felt. She was an assassin, and she wasn't trustworthy, but that didn't mean that she had never suffered before. Maybe I should give her a little more leeway, a little more trust.

"I'm sorry," I said. "How did she die?"

"My Aunt?" Bianca frowned, a far away look in her eyes. She paused, as though weighing her options, wondering what to tell me, and I suspected that I already knew the answer. "A Halliwell Son," she said sarcastically, "is supposed to be the paragon of all good, isn't he?"

I thought of Wyatt. "Things don't always work out the way you think they will," I answered.

She gave me a funny look. "No," she agreed. "No, they don't."

"So you're helping us out of revenge?" I asked finally. It was a dangerous path to follow, and I could practically hear my mother or one of the aunts giving a lecture about all the reasons revenge never served anyone well in the long term. Uncle Leo, too, agreed with this philosophy, but I wondered if he would start to change his mind now that everything was falling apart all around us.

"No," the Phoenix answered. She looked away. "Not revenge."

"I don't understand," I said.

"I don't expect you to," she answered almost immediately.

"I don't trust you," I snapped, irritated by her avoidance of my question.

"Good," she said firmly, giving me an approving nod. "If you trust too easily, people will take advantage of that. At least you've learned that lesson."

"Why are you here?" I demanded, my patience wearing thin. "What do you want from us?"

"I told your cousin Prudence that I wanted a way out of my life," she said quietly, "and that hasn't changed. Your cousin has destroyed this world, _my_ world, and I want it back."

"Killing Wyatt won't bring your Aunt or your mother back to life."

"My Aunt was the Matriarch of our clan," she said. "She wasn't supposed to die. We weren't supposed to let her die. But she did, and we're falling apart, just the way you are." She turned away, her eyes dropping down to the pool of water again. For a moment, I wondered if she would say anything else, but then she spoke. "I'm not trying to bring anyone back to life. I just want… I just want to fix this."

I left. I'd had too many troubling conversations with people in the past several hours, and I was in no mood to listen to anyone else's thoughts and feelings. I couldn't even make sense of my own conflicting emotions. There was simply too much to deal with. What happened to the simple answers, the obvious black and white of Good and Evil that my mother and aunts had dealt with. Why were things so much more complicated now?

But as I walked away, I glanced over my shoulder to stare at Bianca one last time. She'd lifted her hand to her throat again, her fingers sliding over the thin necklace. She was staring at nothing, obviously lost in her own thoughts, and I wondered what was going on inside that mind of hers.

Nothing made sense to me lately. But looking at Bianca, I had the feeling that I wasn't the only one with this problem.

* * *

Normal POV 

Bianca was not surprised to find Kaia waiting for her when she returned to her apartment. She was, however, slightly disturbed by Matt's absence. He had come by most days, wanting to know every detail of her plan, wanting to make sure that she was still on schedule. The entire clan was depending on her, he would say, and she would tell him, again and again, that she knew what she was doing.

"You disappeared off our radar," Kaia said without preamble. "Where did you go?"

"Where's Matt?" Bianca countered, glancing around the living room. "Why isn't he here?"

Kaia shrugged. "I figured you'd be more forthcoming if we had a chat one-on-one," she explained coldly, eyes sparking with accusations.

"I was at Valhalla, witch," Bianca retorted. "Exactly where I was supposed to be."

"Oh?" That caught Kaia's attention, and she waited, wanting more details.

"Where's Matt?" Bianca asked again.

"Didn't realized you cared so much for him," the younger witch snapped sarcastically. "Lord Wyatt sent him on a mission. Can't you do your job without him?" She was mocking the Phoenix, something that Bianca might have responded to had she not been worried about other thoughts.

"I just like making sure that I'm not losing another family member," Bianca said. She pulled off her sweater and tossed it on the sofa behind her. Pulling her hair into her hands, she secured it in a ponytail and gave Kaia an impatient look. "Why are you still here?"

"They trust you now," Kaia answered. "At least enough to allow you access to their base."

"Yes," Bianca answered. "What's your point?"

"I'm sure Lord Wyatt would like a report," Kaia said smoothly. "Why are you so reluctant to cooperate?"

For a moment, the assassin witch did not answer. She opened her mouth, but the words didn't come out, and she ended up looking away. "Give me a moment, and I'll come to his headquarters with you," she said finally.

"You care about them."

Bianca was half-way to the bathroom when Kaia said the words, and she froze and turned around. Staring at the other witch, she raised one eyebrow and asked haughtily, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not blind, Bianca," Kaia snapped. "You care about them. I can see it."

"Most of the Halliwells have lost both their parents," Bianca answered calmly. "As have I. Today reminded me of the less than pleasant memories of my past. That is all." She didn't say what she was thinking, that she had seen her own desperate need for her mother's guidance reflected in Ria's face. Or that the way Prue and Adam had been laughing together when she first came to the island had made her jealous, had reminded her of all the thing she no longer had. Or that Chris' obvious crush on her set her heart beating in a strange and somewhat exciting way.

But the emotions must have shown on her face, because Kaia did not look convinced.

"I hope, for your sake, that it is merely that," Kaia said cautiously.

Bianca frowned. "I should have been able to save my aunt, but Tanya's dead. I assure you, Kaia, I won't make that same mistake twice. I know who to trust… and who not to."

* * *

Next Chapter: The Two Worlds 

Due: Sun 11/4


	24. The Two Worlds

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter switches back and forth between Jason viewpoint and normal POV. Please pay attention to these changes.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Two Worlds

Jason POV

Some time after Kyra's death, I convinced Myst to take me to the Outside. She left me in San Fransisco and told me to call for Leo when I needed a lift back to our sanctuary. It was different from what I remembered, and yet so very much the same.

Mortals learned to stay in the shadows, away from the middle of the street where they could be easily seen. The city was dotted with the occasional destroyed warehouse or abandoned building structure, empty places that spoke of battles that had occurred and would continue to occur. The air was filled with probes. Once or twice they scanned me, but Bianca had told us that the probes only scanned for witches, and she appeared to be right. None of them had transmitted data. Apparently I was not important enough to Wyatt to track.

And yet, despite all this, life still went on. In the park, near the old school that Wyatt and Chris had both attended, a mother and daughter played in the sandbox. A man hurried forward to help an old woman cross the street. Two teenage girls stared at their reflections in the window of the grocery store and compared makeup brands.

I walked towards a newsstand and glanced at the nearest paper, the New York Times. The headlines weren't particularly interesting until I caught sight of a small article tucked into the bottom column of the front page.

I picked up the paper, digging in my pocket for my wallet and handing the vender a few loose dollars. As I walked away, I unfolded the paper and scanned the articles curiously.

_Senate Passes Identification Bill._

_Washington DC, Associated Press… In a surprise move yesterday, the United States Senate passed the Witch Identification Bill which will require all witches to submit their names to a review committee. They will carry papers that identify themselves as magical beings and will…_

I rolled up the paper again. I didn't want to read the rest of the article, I didn't want to know what people were doing to fight back against Wyatt's regime.

I turned around and walked straight into a slight woman who was trying to pass by me on the sidewalk. She stumbled, dropping her purse and throwing out her hands to catch herself. I quickly steadied her, mumbling apologies, and picked up her purse. Handing it back to her, I offered another apology.

"It's alright," she said with a smile, waving her hand. "It's really my fault. I'm just clumsy."

"Well, I did walk into you," I replied quietly. I took the opportunity to study her appearance. She looked thin and worn, as though she had seen too much. She could not have been more than thirty, but her eyes were shrouded with small worry lines and she was slightly hesitant as she lifted her eyes to my face. She wasn't pretty in the conventional sense, but she looked like she had a pleasant personality.

"I'm Mary," she said abruptly, extending a hand.

"Jason," I answered. Her hand was small in mine, her bones delicate. She reminded me of Phoebe, and that made me think of the horrible losses our family had endured. My thoughts must have shown on my face because she drew back, worried and concerned.

"Are you… did I say something?" she asked, chewing her bottom lip carefully.

"No," I said bluntly. I didn't want to go into details, so I turned away and looked at the city again. The sun was setting over the distant hills, and the shadows grew longer as the day faded into night. "I guess I should get home," I said. "It isn't safe to be out here after dark. Especially not alone."

Mary shrugged. "I guess," she said softly. "I still do it and no one has killed me yet."

"I guess you are luckier than some of my family," I said.

"Oh… I'm sorry," Mary murmured, her words stumbling over themselves. She seemed nervous, awkward, and I suppose I hadn't done much to ease her discomfort. I didn't mean to be rude, I just didn't want to talk about any of this right now. I couldn't help but think of Phoebe, of Paige and Piper, of Richard, of Victor, of Kyra.

"Thank you," I answered.

"Life goes on," Mary said. Her words were not meant to be unkind, but they were harsh. This life was harsh. I nodded and walked away.

Fifteen minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the Halliwell Manor Museum. It had closed for the evening, and the lights were turned off inside the windows. The front lawn looked exactly like I remembered, perfectly manicured. The cement walkway between the steps and the front door had been swept clean. Piper would have been pleased.

On a whim, I walked up the steps to the front door. Standing on the porch, I stared at the slightly faded paint, the doorbell, the curtains that hadn't been changed since we'd left the house a year before. This house had seen so many of our most important moments, both the triumphs and the tragedies. And now it was nothing more than an artifact on display for people to goggle at in amazement and curiosity.

But what was it Mary had said? Life goes on…

"Mr. Dean?"

I spun around, surprised by the hesitant voice. A young girl stood at the edge of the sidewalk, staring up at me with wide eyes. It was Hannah, the daughter of a neighbor we had long since given up trying to stay in touch with. Even before Wyatt's exposure of magic had forced us from the manor, our constant magical problems had made it difficult to keep any form of friendship with the neighbors.

I looked behind her towards her house, and saw her mother, Lisa, standing in the doorway, watching the scene with a calculating gaze.

"The Museum is closed, Mr. Dean. Don't you know that?" Hannah asked in her squeaky voice.

I walked down the steps. "I know, Hannah," I replied. Inwardly, I marveled at how much she had changed since I had last seen her. She was taller, and her eyes were darker and more distant. But she smiled widely at me, oblivious to the tension that my presence of this street was sure to cause.

"You shouldn't go up there. Mommy says that the bad people get mad and take you away if you do," Hannah continued, nodding her head sagely.

Again, I look past her towards her mother. Lisa met my gaze, one eyebrow raised almost challengingly. She was still on the other side of the street, far enough away that it was obvious she did not wish to speak to me. For anyone who knew me, I would always be considered a part of the magical world. I had married a Halliwell, and that had sealed my fate.

* * *

Normal POV 

"How the hell did the Senate pass this bill?" Kaia snarled, tossing the newspaper article onto Zankou's desk and glaring at him with frustration and fury. "Why didn't you warn me?"

Zankou frowned and replied bitingly, "I didn't realize you were so important that you deserved to be warned about every little thing."

"This," Kaia gestured to the article, "is not little." She crossed her arms over her chest. Zankou was still Chief of Staff to the President of the United States, and he was still able to exert considerable influence over what types of policies were released from this White House. However, he had not been able to predict the passing of this bill, and if he could not see something as vital as that, his usefulness was limited.

"It was a surprise move," Zankou continued. "None of the Senators spoke to anyone about it. Not even there aids."

"They're mortal," Kaia countered. "How could they hide something like that from you? Your job is to…"

"I am well aware of what my job is, witch," Zankou hissed. "And for your information, I still do it better than anyone else could. If_Lord_ Wyatt has a problem, perhaps he should come to me himself."

"I assure you, Zankou, that if Wyatt ever decides to visit you himself, it will be simply to vanquish you. So you should be pleased that it is me you are dealing with," Kaia spat back. Wyatt had taken a less and less involved approach to meddling in matters of politics simply because he trusted that he could delegate to others. He was not likely to pay close attention to anything, but this new legislation would catch his eye, and she wanted to have an explanation for how it had happened to be passed.

"You're worried," Zankou observed, studying Kaia closely. "You're just as afraid of Wyatt's wrath as I am." He hesitated, then asked with a decidedly mocking air, "Will he hold you responsible as well?" His grim smile widened as he realized that he had hit the nail on the head; Kaia was afraid of Wyatt's reaction to this latest bit of news.

"I'd be less worried about my fate and more concerned about yours," Kaia retorted, her face flushed slightly. She turned away. "This is a problem."

"It is nothing we can't handle," Zankou argued.

Kaia snorted disbelievingly and said pointedly, "I have no intention of handing my name over to some committee of arrogant fools."

"So don't," Zankou answered calmly. "They're powerless mortals, Kaia. They can't force you."

For a moment, Kaia didn't reply. Then she said simply, "Wyatt will be angry."

"Wyatt is too busy trying to find his wayward family," Zankou shot back derisively.

"Careful, Zankou," Kaia cautioned, "you go too far."

Zankou hesitated. For the most part, he had no qualms about working for the Twice Blessed. He knew it would mean his imminent death if he ever tried to stand against Wyatt, and that was something he clearly did not want. But there were other demons that were less accepting of this new reign of power, and he had heard rumors of small uprisings and unsettled demonic clans.

He walked away from Kaia, strolling around his desk and collapsing easily into the hard-backed chair behind it. "I'm not the one who is going too far," he countered. "How many revolts has our dear Lord had to quash in the past week? Three? Four?" He paused long enough for Kaia to figure out exactly where he was going with this topic, then he said sarcastically, "And there I thought you were in charge of finding and stopping Wyatt's magical enemies."

"I have been!" Kaia hissed.

"Of course," Zankou answered quietly, his tone inflected with just a touch of disbelief. "And I am sure you are doing your very best…"

Kaia placed her hand on the newspaper still lying face-up on the desk and glanced at the article announcing the new identification bill. "And I'm sure you are doing your best as well," she snarled.

When she was gone, Zankou stared blankly at the walls of his office, thinking. He was surprised that he had not been informed of this new bill. He knew that the Senate had often considered the possibility that somehow the magical world was spying on their activities, influencing their decisions. Humans were wonderfully paranoid about this sort of thing, but in this particular instance they had actually been correct. Still… he needed to speak to the President of the United States. He needed to know if anyone suspected him specifically, or if he was still in the clear.

And, he decided finally, he needed to discredit Kaia. If he had any chance of moving up on this ladder of authority, if he was to become Wyatt's right hand man, he needed all of the competition out of the way.

Permanently.

* * *

Jason POV 

When I finally returned to Valhalla, I was surprised to find Freya and Chris deep in conversation. Ria and Adam were off playing in some waterfall, enjoying the few last moments they had to be children. Prue was looking over some maps of the city, although I wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for. Leo had disappeared again, which wasn't much of a surprise. His absence was more common than his presence these days.

But Chris and Freya talking… that I did not expect.

I wandered over towards them, listening to the rise and fall of each voice, catching bits and pieces of the conversation.

"…wants to save him."

"Your father… thinks he can… but not… impossible. Will is evil and…"

"Freya, I don't…"

"…isn't your decision, Christopher."

"It shouldn't be yours, either."

"They're arguing about Will," a voice said, and Daryl appeared at my side. "The half-demon who killed Kyra." I gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. "Leo told me about it."

"Has Derek had anything to say about these conversations?" I asked as the two of us walked away. The dirt path stretched out at our feet, winding back and forth across the ground. In the distance, I could hear the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, of swords crossing in a sparring match, and knew that the Valkeries were training.

"His son is not evil," Daryl intoned. He gave another shrug as though to say that Derek's outrage did not bother him overly much.

I studied him, scrutinizing his features. When we had first met, he was younger and easy to smile. Like all the Halliwells, he was at my wedding, and like Leo and Piper, he too threatened bodily harm if I ever hurt Phoebe. He came over for Christmas several times, and for birthdays. He was just as much a part of this family as I was, and yet somehow he was so much more distant now.

I thought for a moment of Prue. Daryl didn't have anyone to tie him here. He was able to just turn and walk away from all of us if he so desired. I couldn't do that, because Prue was caught up in this entire mess, and I had no intention of ever leaving my daughter.

Daryl looked tired, I realized after a moment. No, he looked _exhausted_.

"I went to the Outside today," I said.

"I heard," Daryl replied unemotionally. "That was stupid." His blunt words caught me by surprise, but I smiled a little.

It had been a stupid thing to do.

"The Senate passed a bill requiring all magical beings to be identified," I said quietly, running hand through my hair. Behind us, Chris and Freya had stopped talking and Chris had stormed away angrily. I glanced over my shoulder to watch him go, then looked back at Daryl.

"It's funny, sometimes, to remember that there is an entire world out there, isn't it?" Daryl murmured in reply. I waited for him to continue, and sure enough, he said, "We hide here and talk about the best ways to save Wyatt or to stop him. But we forget about the mortal world. We forget how it affects them, how this battle will influence their lives…" He trailed off, then looked over at me, his gaze so piercing that I swallowed nervously. "Except for those of us who are part of the mortal world. Those of us who can't ignore its plight."

"There's only one world, Daryl," I answered.

Daryl shook his head. "That's what Leo wants you to believe," he said. "But you and I… we know better."

I said nothing, simply stood there and mulled over his words. Here in Valhalla, we concerned ourselves with saving the witches and other creatures that Wyatt's demons targeted. We set up safe-houses, we shepherded hundreds of people away from his persecution and to the safety of this hidden island. But did we ever stop and look at the rest of the world? Did we ever wonder about the safety of the non-magical people? The innocents that Piper, Phoebe, and Paige had spent their lives trying to protect? Or did we simply let them fall by the wayside as we hurried about our own tasks, ignoring their problems.

With a jolt, I realized that Prue never seemed to receive premonitions anymore. When she was younger, she would occasionally see an innocent in danger and Wyatt or Chris would rush off to save them. She'd taken over most of the premonition-involving plans ever since Phoebe had died, but lately…

I found it difficult to believe that innocents weren't in danger. Which meant that it was simply that the Powers That Be or whoever gave my daughter these premonitions was less involved in the lives of mere mortals. How could it be that this had happened, and no one even noticed?

"Do you regret meeting the Halliwells?" Daryl asked suddenly.

I opened my mouth, positive I knew what the answer was. But then I remembered Phoebe's broken body on the attic floor, Prue's sobbing at the funeral. I remembered the hard look in Wyatt's eyes the last time I had seen him and the anger that was still often directed my way when I introduced myself. I remembered all the pain we had felt, all the times I'd been in mortal danger simply because of my association with these Halliwells. I remembered the secrets that lived in that house, the lies my wife and her sister told in order to protect me, the arguments that frequently broke out among all of us whenever we tried to determine the best future for our children.

The word that finally fell from my lips, shaking and stuttering, echoing in the silence, was not what I had expected. "Yes," I said.

Daryl nodded. "Me, too," he said grimly. Then he asked, "If you could go back and change it, would you still marry Phoebe?"

I thought of Prue.

My answer was firm and emphatic and one hundred percent truthful. "Always."

Daryl nodded again. "Exactly. That's what makes this so difficult to comprehend. We both don't like where we've ended up or any of the paths we took to get here. And yet neither of us would change any of it."

It was a depressing thought.

* * *

Normal POV 

The cave was dark.

All caves were dark. The Underworld, one long, never-ending labyrinth of caves, did not receive light from the sun or from any other natural source besides the occasional torches that flickered on the walls, flames and sparks spitting into the air, dimly illuminating the shadows.

The demons gathered quietly, eyes constantly moving around, scrutinizing the others. Their faces were wary, suspicious. Any one here could turn traitor, and a single turncoat would mean their demise. The tension was high, straining the occupants of the dark room.

The creature who spoke kept his voice lowered, his words near a whisper. Sometimes even the walls had ears.

"Tell me, comrades, if this is the type of world you want to live in? A world ruled by a witch? One who will casually vanquish you if he decides he doesn't need you anymore? We are demons, and we serve like slaves to the whims of a Halliwell?"

There was an answer rustle, a murmur that rose from the group. Another demon, perhaps braver than the others, stepped forward and demanded, "How do you intend to change that, _comrade_?" His voice was a sneer, but the anticipation in his eyes belied his disinterest.

"He may be powerful, but he is only one witch," the first demon answered. "If we banded together…"

"He'd vanquish us as easily as he did every other demon that tried to stop him," came an emphatic retort from the crowd. Again, there was more murmuring, but this was more anxious, more scared. Nobody wanted to be cast into the fiery pit of Hell by the Twice Blessed.

"He would if we only went one at a time," the first demon replied confidently. "But if we band together…"

"Demons have tried it in the past, and it has gotten them nowhere," another demon said, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Do you really expect us to risk our lives on a futile mission?"

The first demon frowned at this new speaker, his eyes narrowing slightly. With a casual wave of his hand, he tossed a fireball at her, and she screamed and went up in flames. Ash swirled in the air, landing in a small pile on the floor of the cave. The first demon allowed himself a small smile.

He turned towards the other demons. "You have come here, to this meeting, and that is, in and of itself, an act of treason. Do you think Wyatt Halliwell will spare you now, knowing you have considered working against him? You signed your own death warrant the moment you shimmered into this cave."

This time, the group was completely silent.

"Our only hope is to join forces against the witch. Are you with more, or are you not?"

* * *

Next Chapter: One Step Closer

Due: Sun 11/18


	25. One Step Closer

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer:

Author's note: No, I'm not dead and this story isn't on hiatus. Just a little behind in everything I meant to do…

* * *

Chris-21

Wyatt-23

Prue-16

Adam-12

Ria-15

* * *

People of Importance in this chapter:

Derek: A friend of Leo's, the son of Will, the half-manticore baby in Season Six, now a new member of the Resistance.

Kaia: A witch who works for Wyatt.

All other characters who appear in this chapter are not my invention but are taken directly from the television show and should be familiar to anyone who has seen Seasons Six and Seven.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: One Step Closer

"What are you doing?" Bianca demanded, grabbing Prue by the arm and pulling her away from the open street and into a dark alley. "Do you not realize that there are several demons on your tail?"

Prue glared at Bianca and almost asked how the Phoenix had managed to find her. She'd been running for the past several hours, unable to find a way back to Valhalla, and as of yet, no one had come for her. She'd cloaked herself with a strong blocking potion to keep Wyatt from finding her during her mission, but it had the unfortunate side-effect of blocking out all the good witches and white-lighters as well.

But Bianca was an assassin, and she had her own methods, ones that Prue was fairly certain she didn't want to know about. Chris said that Bianca was trustworthy, and right now Prue wasn't in a position to argue.

"We know Wyatt is after that witch, the one with the ability to control moral polarities," Prue said under her breath.

Bianca rolled her eyes. "I know that," she snapped. "I'm the one who gave you that information."

Earlier in the week, Wyatt's probes had tracked down a new witch, one who apparently could infect other mortals and magic creatures and reverse their sense of right and wrong. She could make demons good and witches evil, and for obvious reasons, Wyatt wanted the witch either on his side or eliminated. Bianca had passed the information along to Leo, and he had quickly organized a team of scouts to find this witch and save her before her gifts could be put to other uses.

Prue glowered, but continued, "Myst, Lila, Chris, Ria, and I were trying to find this witch. Uncle Leo sent us in the right direction, but somehow Wyatt new that we were coming and ambushed us."

Bianca's face betrayed no emotion, but inside she smirked. She knew exactly why Wyatt's demons had been waiting; she had arranged it that way. The witches had been ambushed, but as usual, the demons had underestimated their ability to fight back. They had all escaped, alive.

"And let me guess," Bianca said coolly, "you got separated from the others, and no one has been able to find you yet."

"Cloaking potion," Prue admitted, leaning against the dirty wall of the building behind her and looking around the alley. "To keep me safe from Wyatt."

"Okay," Bianca said. There were several possibilities. She could take Prue back to Wyatt, but that would blow her cover. She could return Prue to the Resistance and hopefully ingratiate herself with Freya and the others. Or she could wait until one of the Valkeries showed up with a pendant, attempt to kill both women, and take the pendant back to Wyatt.

"Okay? There are demons trying to find me, I'm stuck here until someone manages to get past the cloaking potion, I have no way of knowing if the others are fine, and all you have to say is okay?" Prue sputtered indignantly.

"Be quiet," Bianca snapped. "I'm trying to think of a way to get word back to the Resistance and keep you safe at the same time."

"You always manage to get word to the Resistance. Or to find one of us if you have information. How do you do it?" Prue demanded harshly.

Bianca shook her head. "Nuh uh, Prue. Those are Phoenix trade secrets. I'm not telling." Before Prue could argue, she spun around and stared at the entrance to the alley. "And we have bigger problems."

Five demons had appeared.

"Shimmer us out of here," Prue ordered.

"No," Bianca said calmly, eyeing the demons. "We need to vanquish them."

"What? Why?"

"Because they work for Wyatt," Bianca hissed, her patience growing thin. "And if I shimmer away with you, they will report this to your cousin, and that would blow my cover, wouldn't it?" She seized Prue by the arm and said in a low voice, "Just play along, and hopefully I can't get us out of here in one piece."

"Hey, what are you…?"

Before Prue could finish the question, Bianca had hauled her towards the demons. She tossed the younger witch onto the ground, forcefully pushing her to her stomach in front of the demons.

"This the witch you were looking for?" Bianca asked mockingly. "A little late, boys."

"Lord Wyatt will be pleased to see his cousin," the lead demon snarled with a triumphant grin. He took a step towards Prue, who was looking up at the demon with rage and a little fear. Bianca, however, stopped him by throwing a low-voltage energy ball at his chest.

"You really think I'm letting you drag her back to Lord Wyatt?" the Phoenix snapped. "I caught her, I get the credit for it."

"Caught me?" Prue pulled herself to her feet, glaring at Bianca with uncontrolled fury. "I told Chris you weren't trustworthy! I told him, but did he listen to me?"

Bianca back handed her easily and then turned to the other demons with a sigh. "I guess I was a little more lax in my infiltration of their organization than I wanted to be. Oh well."

The demons all chortled at her words, finding the entire situation amusing.

Until Prue raised a hand and conjured a burst of fire that hit the first demon in the chest and instantly incinerated him. With a howl of rage, one of the other demons launched himself at Prue, but Bianca jumped in between them and kicked the demon to the ground.

"The witch is worth more to us alive than dead," Bianca spat. "Remember that." Then she spun around and caught Prue by the shoulders, pushing her backwards and pinning her against the wall. In a voice so low only Prue could hear it, she said, "I told you to play along, not get yourself killed. Watch it. I can only keep you alive for so long." Loudly, so that the four remaining demons could hear, she said, "Try something like that again, Ms. Halliwell, and I won't stop the four of them from attacking you. Got it?"

Prue blinked, thoroughly confused by the entire situation, but now realizing that trusting Bianca was her best chance at survival. "Sure," she said sarcastically, but she gave the Phoenix the tiniest of nods.

"Good," Bianca said smoothly. She pulled Prue away from the wall, but still held onto her with one hand. Slanting a look at the others, she asked, "The rest of the group that were trying to rescue the moral polarizing witch, did they get away?"

One of the demons nodded. "Yeah. We couldn't catch them, they jumped through the portal back to Valhalla and were gone."

"And the witch?"

The demon crinkled his nose. "Kendra Connelly. She escaped as well, although not with the others."

Bianca nodded, then said, "I suppose that's all the four of you knew, which mean you've served your purpose." She'd vanquished two of them with well-placed energy balls before they had a chance to react, and Prue had taken the opportunity to vanquish the third with another burst of fire.

The remaining demon threw a fire ball at Prue, who ducked out of the way just in time to avoid it. Then the demon began to shimmer away, but Bianca tossed an athame and caught him in the shoulder mid-shimmer, effectively bringing him back into the alley. He fell to his knees with a furious snarl, and reached up with one hand to rip out the athame in his shoulder. Then he launched himself at Bianca.

Prue stepped back and watched in stunned amazement as the demon and the Phoenix fought. She had never seen anyone move as quickly, as gracefully, as deadly as Bianca did. It was only a matter of moments before she had efficiently achieved the upper-hand, and vanquished the enraged demon by snapping his neck.

Bianca took a deep breath, then turned and glanced at Prue. "Come on," she said tersely, grabbing Prue by the arm. "Let's go." And she shimmered the two of them away.

* * *

"Where is she?" Jason hissed as he followed Myst along the dirt path. "Myst, what the hell happened to her? Where is she?"

"Jason, please, we are doing everything we can to find her," Myst said, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "You need to relax."

"Relax?" Jason demanded, near hysterics at this point. "My only child is missing in a world where she could be killed on sight, and you want me to relax?"

"She won't be killed," Leo said he appeared next to Myst and Jason. "She's still Wyatt's family, and he still wants her alive."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Jason snapped, annoyed.

"Well, it's like I keep saying," Derek muttered as he too approached the group with a glare for Leo and a sympathetic look at Jason. "Leo only cares about his own children."

"That isn't true, Derek, and you know it," Leo said harshly, spinning around to look at the other man. Although he still felt guilty for betraying Derek's trust and failing him in the past, he refused to let the bitter man cloud the truth of the situation. The Charmed One's inability to find and save Derek's half-manticore son was not a reflection on how he felt about any of the endangered innocents out there, least of all his own niece.

"Is that why you've stopped looking for my son?" Derek demanded viciously.

Leo narrowed his eyes. "Your son murdered Kyra," he said coolly.

"And how many children has _your_ son murdered?" Derek replied pointedly.

Leo opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head silently, and stormed away. Myst glanced from Leo's retreating back to Derek, and said softly, "I think I would walk away as well if I were you, Derek."

Derek glowered, but left.

"We will find her," Myst said, turning her attention back to Jason. "Don't worry. We will find Prue."

"And maybe sooner than you think," a voice said, and Chris stepped out of the underbrush and joined the other two on the path. "Bianca just made contact. She found Prue and brought her to a safe house."

* * *

The safe house was an old abandoned grocery store in one of the more dangerous parts of town. It had sunk underground during a great earthquake, and it's entrance was through a set of staircases that had originally lead to the roof. It was hidden with fairy magic, but it was still less secure than the sanctuary at Valhalla, and the Resistance knew that it was only a matter of time before Wyatt discovered the location.

Inside, the place was dark and gloomy, and Prue didn't like it. Bianca had left her while she went to contact the Resistance and then scour the location for any signs of danger. So the younger witch paced back and forth across the dust covered floor, and waited.

A sudden bright light filled the room, announcing the presence of orbs, and Prue raised a hand and conjured burning flames, prepared to attach whoever the newcomer was.

But when she saw Chris' form, she breathed a sigh of relief and extinguished the flames.

"Where are the others?" Prue asked without preamble.

"Myst brought us to the alley behind the ruins of the movie theater across the block," Chris replied, crossing quickly to his cousin. "I'll take us back to her and we can go home."

Most of the safe houses allowed witches to enter by means of magical transportation. They had to be structured this way so that they could be quickly accessed or abandoned if the situation required it. Unfortunately, it also meant that demons and warlocks could just as easily shimmer or blink in, assuming they knew the location. Because of this, Valkeries never opened a portal directly into a safe house in case there were demons lying in wait, prepared to ambush.

Which meant that while Myst, Jason, and Ria all waited in the alley, Prue and Chris were left alone to face the several demons that suddenly shimmered into the room.

"I thought this was supposed to be safe?" Prue murmured under her breath as a thousand questions raced through her mind. Had Bianca known that demons would come? Had she sent them here? Was this all some elaborate trap to get her and Chris?

One of the demons threw an energy ball at Prue, but she easily dodged it and responded with an attack of her own. The wind that burst from her fingertips sent two of the demons colliding backwards against the far wall, and she scrambled to her feet and raced towards Chris.

Before she could reach him, however, another demon sent an energy ball at her back. Chris reacted instantly, crying, "Prue, look out!" and waving a hand and telekinetically throwing Prue to the ground, and out of the path of energy ball. It flew over her head and smashed into the wall instead, leaving a dark scorch mark behind.

Prue pulled herself to her feet once again, and threw more fire at the demons. They responded by sending a bolt of pure electricity towards her, and she was unprepared to avoid the attack. Chris flung himself forward, diving in front of Prue, protecting her as the electricity hit him in the shoulder. He groaned in pain, and collapsed to the floor.

"Chris!" Prue screamed, panicked, as she realized that her cousin was injured and there was now know way to quickly leave the building. She would have to fight her way out, and somehow save Chris in the process.

She dropped to his side, looking over him, silently thanking God when she saw the rise and fall of his chest, and indication that he was still alive.

The remaining demons stepped forward, circling her menacingly. "If you come quietly," one of them said, yellow eyes sparkling with triumph, "Lord Wyatt might just spare your lives."

Prue stood, eyes narrowed in hatred, and snarled, "Over my dead body."

The demon shrugged. "As you wish."

Before any of the demons could attack, however, two of them screamed and burst into sudden flames. The lead demon spun around, fury etched onto his face, glaring at the intruder who dared to attack his followers.

Ria stared back at him, unafraid.

Prue, seeing her cousin, said quickly, "Ria, Chris is hurt. Get him out of here." As Ria rushed towards their fallen cousin, Prue stepped forward and attacked the three remaining demons. The first one was easily vanquished, and then she glanced over her shoulder to see orbs surrounding Ria and Chris and carrying them to safety. But even as the sight reassured her, it was that moment of distraction that allowed the two demons still alive to gain the upper-hand and attack ferociously, backing her into a corner.

She was trapped.

And then…

"Going somewhere, boys?"

The demons spun around in time to see the energy balls flying towards them. The first demon ducked, but the second was not as lucky, and was vanquished immediately. Prue took advantage of the momentary confusion and conjured the wind, channeling it through her palm and slamming the demon across the room and into the far wall.

Then she turned to her savior.

"Are you out of your mind?" Prue hissed. "What if one of the demons had escaped and reported back to Wyatt? He would have known you don't work for him anymore, and the Resistance would have lost a spy."

"And if Wyatt had captured you, Chris would have fallen apart, and the Resistance would have lost an important member," Bianca replied, carelessly tossing an energy ball at the final demon and vanquishing him while he lay stunned by the wall.

"I was fine," Prue retorted.

Bianca rolled her eyes. "You were caught. Admit it, Prue, you weren't strong enough to take on those demons by yourself. I saved you."

Prue huffed. "Well you don't have to gloat."

Bianca just shrugged, grabbed Prue's arm, and shimmered the two of them away.

They reappeared in the alley were everyone else was waiting. Myst was leaning over the injured Chris, attempting to determine the extent of his wounds. Jason was pacing nervously, and Ria seemed to be on the verge of hysterical fear. But Prue's appearance calmed them all down, and Jason rushed to her side and pulled her into a hug.

"What happened?" Myst asked Bianca, looking up from Chris.

Bianca hesitated, then said, "I left Prue in the safe house. I didn't realize that Wyatt had already discovered it. I called you all, and then I went to search around the area, to see if we were followed. I didn't see any demons, so I went back to the safe house, and Prue was cornered by two demons. I vanquished them."

"You sure you didn't know that there were demons there?" Jason asked suspiciously.

Bianca looked at him unemotionally. "Do you really think I would have gone to all that trouble to save Prue, just to let her die?"

"Still, of all the safe houses you could have taken her to, it's convenient that you chose one that Wyatt knew about. Convenient that you chose one that apparently already had demons hiding out in it, waiting for the opportune moment to strike."

Bianca crossed her arms over her chest. "I didn't know, and that is the truth." Her eyes flickered momentarily to Chris, and then she added, "You can believe whatever you want, it doesn't matter to me. But you need to get him back to a white-lighter, and soon."

"Pity you couldn't have shown up in time to keep Chris from getting hurt," Jason sneered.

"Dad," Prue said softly, "she saved my life at great risk to her own safety. Twice."

Jason didn't say anything, although Prue's words seemed to have calmed him a little. Instead, he turned to Myst and said tersely, "Get us out of here." Myst touched the pendant at her neck, and a portal opened. Ria quickly pulled Chris through, and then Prue jumped in after him. Jason turned to Bianca and asked, "Coming?"

"No," Bianca said, "I have a few other things I need to do."

Jason gave her a hard look, then stepped through the portal. Myst walked through last, and the portal closed behind her.

Bianca stood still for a moment, then licked her dry lips and said, "Come out, Kaia. I know you're there."

The young witch appeared from nowhere, her cloak of invisibility slipping away. She allowed herself a small smirk and she commented, "So Prue trusts you now."

"Yes," Bianca said. "She does."

"Clever," Kaia murmured, "and rather convenient that you just managed to save her from demons twice. I have to wonder if maybe Jason wasn't partially right, if you didn't have a hand in making sure she was attacked in such a way that you would be able to save her." She looked at Bianca, but the Phoenix stared back with an unreadable expression. Kaia's smirk grew. "After all, she was one of your biggest obstacles, and with her trust, and Christopher Halliwell's trust as well…"

Again, Bianca said nothing.

Kaia nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," she said at last, "for doubting you before. You are better at this than I believed you would be."

Bianca tilted her head to the side. "I know," she said, and then shimmered away.

* * *

Wyatt frowned as he watched the witch before him struggling in her captors' grip. Her long blonde hair, slick with sweat and dirt, tumbled in front of her face, falling into her soft brown eyes.

Eyes that were currently glaring at him in disgust.

"So you're Kendra Connelly," Wyatt said thoughtfully. "You killed several of my best demons in the past few weeks, turning them against each other with your power."

Kendra smirked. "It was fun to watch them battle to the death," she sneered.

Her power, which was channeled through her hands, could be summoned only when her fingers made contact with another's skin. The demons Wyatt had ordered to catch her this time were smart enough to dress in long robes and gloves, cutting off her ability to influence their morality.

Wyatt, however, was wearing only a black t-shirt, and his arms were bare. If she could just break free long enough to reach him, to place her own hand on his arm…

Near the door at the far wall, Bianca stood, arms crossed over her chest, eyes pinned to Kendra. Kaia was standing next to her, but the younger witch seemed a lot less interested by this scene. She was holding a fireball in her hand, bouncing it up and down in boredom.

"Why would you waste your power on something as hopeless as fighting me?" Wyatt said finally, walking closer to Kendra. He stopped right in front of her, clearly disregarding any threat she could possibly be to him.

Kendra stopped struggling and said, "Because you're evil?"

Wyatt laughed, a cold, dark laugh, and the laughter did not reach his eyes. "Am I?" he taunted. He glanced at the two demons, then ordered abruptly, "Let her go." The demons holding her tightly in their grip hesitated, but Wyatt's steely gaze convinced them to obey, and they released her and stepped backwards.

Kendra looked around quickly, trying to figure out if there was anyway to escape. Her eyes traveled over the two demons, Kaia and Bianca, and finally Wyatt. Then she lunged forward, wrapping her slender fingers around Wyatt's wrist, and watching as her palm glowed a silver-blue. A strange substance, some sort of silvery gel, appeared on Wyatt's skin, and was quickly absorbed into his body.

For a moment, Wyatt froze, standing completely still. Then he blinked and looked at Kendra with a strange light in his eyes. "Did you really think that would turn me?" Wyatt asked softly, taking one threatening step towards her. He waved a hand, telekinetically sending her flying into the back wall. Her head snapped back onto the wood, and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

Wyatt rolled his eyes, then turned to Kaia and Bianca and said with the air of someone who has been severely put-upon, "How many times am I going to have to tell people that I'm past the ideas of Good and Evil?"

Kaia seemed a little more interested by this turn of events, although most of her excitement was directed towards the fact that Wyatt had just attacked another witch. Bianca, however, watched the entire exchange with an inscrutable expression. So Wyatt was not affected by Kendra's powers…? The Phoenix had no idea what this meant in terms of Wyatt's morality or the strength and longevity of his reign, but she stored the information away for future reference.

"Get rid of her," Wyatt said to the two demons, gesturing dismissively at Kendra's still form. Then he turned to Bianca. "I want a full report on what happened today."

Bianca fell into step beside the Twice Blessed as the two demons shimmered Kendra's body out of the room.

"I hear you have gained my cousin's trust," Wyatt said.

Bianca nodded slowly. "Yes, Prue and Chris both trust me now. As does Leo. Jason is proving to be a problem, but… I am not worried. He will believe Prue in time."

"And how much time will this take?" Wyatt demanded crossly. "I want my brother by my side."

Bianca turned to him, her eyes widening ever so slightly. "Of course," she said calmly, collectedly. "But you must understand, gaining the trust of people who are very suspicious by nature… that isn't easy."

Wyatt frowned, his anger rising. "You are a Phoenix. You are supposed to be the best."

"I am the best," Bianca answered quickly, slightly offended by his insinuation. "Do you want this job done quickly, or do you want it done right?"

Wyatt's eyes darkened, and he clenched one fist tightly, using his telekinetic powers to choke Bianca and prevent her from shimmering from the room. "Do you dare talk back to me?" he asked in a deathly quiet voice. "Do you _dare_?"

Bianca struggled for a moment, then collapsed to her knees as the decrease in oxygen made her vision blurry. The pain in her throat was terrible, but she maintained her senses enough to fight back, and conjuring an athame in one hand, she flung it straight at Wyatt.

He released his hold on her and caught the athame easily. Bianca pulled herself to her feet, and for a moment the two of them just stared at each other.

Finally, Wyatt said with some begrudging respect, "You are good." Bianca smirked, but Wyatt continued, "But I am still better, and if you cross me…" He left the threat hanging.

Bianca nodded slowly. "Of course," she said.

Wyatt reached out to take her by the arm, but the moment his hand touched her, he was drawn into a sudden premonition.

_It was dark. They were gathered in the attic, several demons, himself, and Chris and Bianca. Behind Chris, a triqueta was drawn on the wall. Bianca had her hand linked with Chris'._

"_Welcome home, Chris," Wyatt said, walking forward._

"_Hello, Wyatt," Chris answered._

Wyatt opened his eyes, surprised. He had never had premonitions before. Was this his powers expanding? Would he now be able to see the future? A slow smile spread across his face; it would be so much easier to control the future if he knew what was going to happen every step of the way. He would focus on this new gift, cultivate it as much as possible.

Then he looked at Bianca. She was staring back at him, waiting for him to say something. He gave her a pleased look and said, "It would appear that, in the future, you do succeed."

"I bring Chris to you?" Bianca asked, wondering what exactly Wyatt saw in his premonition. Wyatt nodded, and Bianca smiled. "I told you I would succeed," she murmured.

A Phoenix did not fail.

* * *

Zankou appeared in the Underworld in a rush of wind and flames. It had been a long time since he had relied on flaming for transportation. Contrary to what most witches believed, some demons were able to use more than one mode of transportation, and he was one of those select few. And although he found flaming rather unpleasant due to the extreme heat he was forced to endure for the length of the journey, he knew that it was also a much more impressive way of appearing anywhere, and his aim today was to impress.

The demons in the cave looked at him in surprise, but almost immediately fell into fighting stances. Among the demonic Underworld, he was well-known as both a powerful demon and a dangerous supporter of Wyatt's rule. And these demons, who were congregating here with the expressed purpose of overthrowing Wyatt's rule, had a reason to fear his wrath.

But Zankou waved his hand in an attempt to put their fears at ease. "I mean no harm," he said calmly, "I merely want to talk."

One of the demons, braver than his companions, stepped forward and hissed defiantly, "Zankou never wants to talk. You only come to kill us."

Zankou considered this, then said, "Well, that was true in the past. But now, I think we have a reason to work together. A common enemy."

"You work for the witch," the demon shot back with a snarl. "You work for our enemy."

"And what if I told you that I didn't want to do that anymore?" Zankou asked with a smirk. His eyes roamed over the others in the room. They were mostly low-level demons with a few more dangerous upper-levels among them. But he was by far the most powerful of anyone in the room, and it would be easy to bend them all to his will.

"You want to turn on the Halliwell?" the demon asked disbelievingly.

"I have spent a very long time putting myself in the perfect position to destroy him," Zankou answered. "He trusts me, he values my skills enough to barely pay attention to what I do with my time. His arrogance keeps him from seeing how much of a threat I really am."

"So you mean to betray him?" another demon asked, stepping forward.

It took Zankou a moment to recognize the demon, but when he did, he smiled grimly. "Hello, Gith," he said. "I see you are still hiding in the Underworld like a scared puppy."

Gith growled, but knew better than to attack Zankou. "I am not foolish enough to risk exposing myself to the Halliwell's fury," Gith answered. "Not unless I can be sure that I will come out alive."

"Ah, but wouldn't it be so much better if you could practice your gifts freely?" Zankou prompted. "Imagine the havoc you could wreak in this world, if only you let everyone give into their desires… and die from them."

"What did you have in mind?" Gith asked, intrigued.

"The Senate has just passed legislation requiring that all magical beings wear badges that mark them as such," Zankou explained. "Our dear Lord Wyatt has ignored this problem for the meantime, but sooner or later the Senate will want to wrest power away from him, and I can ensure that the first place they attack will be the Halliwell Memorial Museum."

"Wyatt won't be pleased by that," another demon said with a cruel laugh, delighting in the idea of destroying Wyatt's most precious monument.

"No," Zankou agreed, "he won't. And when the time comes, he will fight back, he will wage war on those who try to take power from him. It is then, when he will most need my help, when he will be most engaged in other matters, that we will strike."

* * *

Next Chapter: All At Once

Due: Sun 1/13


	26. All At Once

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: The lyrics are from the song _All At Once_ by _The Fray_. This chapter is told through three different POV, so pay attention to any changes in who is talking.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six: All At Once

_**There are certain people you just keep coming back to  
She is right in front of you  
You begin to wonder, could you find a better one?**_

Freya POV

As I watched Derek and Leo argue, once again, I couldn't help but study the white-lighter with a curious feeling of bewilderment. There he stood, speaking to this rather unpleasant human who has done nothing but undermine our authority and our cause, and yet somehow he managed to keep his temper in check. When Leo and I argue, his anger swells inside him, bursting out in sudden torrents of fury. How could he be so calm around the father of the monster who had killed Kyra, and yet shout in rage at me?

The fall of a gentle hand on my shoulder signaled the arrival of Myst, who had brought Chris, Prue, Jason, and Ria back from the safe house. I turned to face her, apprehension apparently evident on my face, because she gave a quick smile and said, "We're all safe."

I looked past her, to where Jason and Prue were standing, talking quietly. Ria had already moved away from them, and Chris, like me, had his eyes trained on his father and Derek.

"The Phoenix did not return with you?" I asked, scanning for any sign of Bianca. I did not trust her much, but the others did. At least to some extent. Still, try as I might, I could never quite reconcile myself to the idea of working with a spy who sold her services to the highest bidder. I just didn't believe her story about her clan being enslaved by Wyatt or her desire to escape his rule.

"No," Myst answered. She looked beyond me, towards Leo and Derek, and sighed. "Are they…?" Still arguing constantly despite Leo's best efforts to diffuse the situation?

I nodded.

We stood in silence for a moment, then Myst turned sharply and walked away. As she disappeared, I could practically feel the waves of anger that remained, her resentment at being forced to share our home with Derek.

And then I felt something else, the sharp twisting in my stomach, the loss of breath, the brief flood of pain through my blood… the signal that another sister had fallen. All around me, my Valkeries stiffened as well, each of them feeling the same thing. They turned sharply to look at me, and the ones who were not in the vicinity came running, crashing through the underbrush.

I was already activating the pendant around my neck, intent on reaching my suffering sister before it was too late. At the same time, I wracked my brains for anyone who might be outside the safety of Valhalla. I had not sent any Valkeries on a mission, and in these dark times it was unlike any of them to disappear without my approval.

"Myst, stay here. Caia, Kani, Landra, come with me," I ordered, before jumping through the portal.

We appeared in a partially ruined park, what had once been a beautiful and family-friendly spot. The play-set, now a twisted jumble of scorch wood and rusted metal, rose like great monstrosity in the background. The trees, which I remembered having once been so neatly pruned and well cared for, had overgrown, their branches intertwining with each other, their roots sticking up in strange places. The underbrush had risen as well, so that shrubs and tall grass covered much of the ground.

As I glanced around, I realized that more than just the three Valkeries I had requested had come with me. Leo was there, as was Derek. Chris hung back behind the others, scanning the area worriedly. All of us were anxious to reach our missing sister before further harm befell her.

"There!" Chris cried suddenly, and I followed his gaze to see him pointing at a fallen figure. My stomach twisted painfully as I rushed forwards, the others following closely behind.

It was Leta. She was pale, blood seeping from what I saw instantly would become a fatal wound. The long gash traveled from her chest down her torso. It was jagged and deep, made by heavy claws. I reached down and placed my hand on her head just as she took her last, shuddering breath. She disappeared, her body fading away and leaving only her glistening green pendant behind.

I lifted it into my hands, feeling a heavy numbness settling over my weary body. The stone was cold in my hand, and I closed my fingers around it, tightening them until my knuckles turned white. "Goodbye, sister," I murmured, and heard echoing sentiments from the others behind me.

As I straightened, Chris asked the question we were all wondering.

"What was Leta doing out here?"

"I don't know," I answered, turning a scrutinizing gaze to the others. My three Valkeries all met my gaze with blank stares, and I knew that they knew as little as I did. Chris wore a puzzled expression, and Leo was glancing around fearfully, looking for any signs of movement. Whoever had killed Leta might still be nearby.

But then I caught sight of Derek's face. To my dying day, I will never forget the rush of understanding that settled over me as I read the simmering anger and guilt in his eyes.

"You knew," I said, and the rage was just beginning to boil within me. "You knew Leta was leaving Valhalla. You knew she was coming out here." My voice rose with every word I said, and any intelligent being would have quailed under my wrath. But Derek just stared back at me, a slight sneer on his face, and the fury erupted. "Why?" I snarled, throwing out my hand and using my powers to force Derek to his knees. "Why did she leave? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Derek fell to the ground, startled. Many forget that Valkeries have telekinetic powers, and Derek was clearly unprepared for my anger. But what did he expect? Leta was my sister, and he had let her go to her death.

"Freya, calm down," Leo interrupted, trying to get between me and Derek. I shoved him roughly out of the way, and he stumbled backwards, daring to give me a disappointed look. I simply glared at him, then turned back to the mortal before me.

"How did you know Leta was leaving? Why did she leave?" I asked, leaning forward to interrogate the scum who had been nothing but trouble since the moment he arrived.

Derek swallowed audibly and said, "I ran into her just as she was about to leave. I told her she shouldn't go on her own, but she said she had to. She had a mission to finish."

I frowned, shooting a stare at Leo. "Mission?" I didn't send her out on anything, and judging by Leo's confused expression, neither did he. "What mission?" I asked, turning to Derek, the only one who could give us answers.

Derek looked at me defiantly and said, "She wanted to avenge the death of a sister."

The deep gashes in her chest, as though claws had torn through her flesh… I inhaled sharply at the realization. Leta had been hunting the half-Manticore who had killed Kyra. She'd been hunting Derek's son.

I grabbed the thin blade that I kept in my belt at all times, pulling it out in one swift move. "You let my sister go to her death," I snarled, moving towards Derek. He moved backwards, putting a few feet between the two of us, but I kept walking forward. "You let her be killed by your son."

"She had it coming," Derek spat angrily, his face suddenly suffused with red rage. His eyes were glowing with a strange light, and it took me a moment to realize that this was what mortal rage looked like. Instead of the calm but deadly power I was used to seeing in the eyes of witches and my sister Valkeries, his anger was hot and uncontrollable, and it ate away at him as he glowered at me.

"How dare you?" one of the other Valkeries—I believe it was Landra—retorted as she too raised her knife into her hands.

"She was trying to kill my son," Derek answered. "I tried to talk her out of it, I told her that he was half-human, but she wouldn't listen. She said he was evil spawn and deserved retribution." He paused, chest heaving with the exertion of his words, and glared directly at me. "I couldn't stop her from leaving. I didn't know if she would succeed in killing my son or not. But I'm glad she didn't. I'm glad she's dead."

By the time I fully registered his words, I had already pounced, knocking him to the ground with a well-placed kick. He groaned and rolled to his side, and I lifted my knife. How dare this mortal allow my sister to die? How dare he continue to protect his demonic offspring even after the child has murdered? I was the leader of the Valkeries, some of the most powerful magical beings in existence, and I did not let a weak, pathetic, narrow-sighted mortal such as Derek endanger my family.

Before the knife could slice through the air and into his throat, I felt someone grab my wrist. A pair of hands pulled me backwards, away from Derek, and the mortal rose to his feet, shaking.

I spun to face the man who had stopped me. It was Leo.

"He's not evil, Freya," Leo whispered, shaking his head. "You can't kill him."

"Of course he's evil," I retorted, shoving Leo away from me. I felt so suddenly helpless in this entire situation, unable to protect my sisters from even a half-Manticore demon. Helpless was not a feeling I was used to accepting, and I had no idea what to do with the despair that threatened to overwhelm me.

So I turned it into anger.

"He let Leta die! We protected him, we offered him sanctuary from the world the Twice Blessed has created, and this is how he repays us?"

"He made a mistake," Leo began, but I cut him off bitterly.

"A mistake? Does it look like he's sorry?" I gestured wildly towards Derek, who was watching the entire scene with some apprehension, but a look of satisfaction as well. "Does it look like he regrets any of this?"

"He didn't know Leta would die," Leo said, raising his voice to be heard over my shouting. "Leta could have killed his son as well. He had no way of knowing which outcome it would be."

"Leta_should_ have killed the monster," I snarled. "She didn't deserve to die."

"And my son did?" Derek asked furiously, pushing his way between Leo and myself. I saw vaguely the look of annoyance that crossed Leo's face, saw the way the three other Valkeries moved forwards threateningly, but I was to focused on the enemy before me.

"Yes," I answered, flinging my hands in the air, fingers still clenched around the deadly blade. "Yes, he _did_! He's evil, Derek. He's a demon. How can you turn a blind eye to that?"

"He is my son!"

"Your son is a monster! He is the enemy. And if you can't see that, then you are the enemy as well."

"Is that a threat?"

"You will never come back to Valhalla." I ordered the edict harshly. "If you dare show your face on my island, you will be killed on sight."

"Freya!" Leo cried, shocked and dismayed. "You can't just turn him out. He has nowhere to go."

"Maybe he should have thought of that before let Leta die," I retorted hotly.

"Freya," a soft voice cut into the conversation, and I started in surprise. I had forgotten that Chris was with us, he'd been so quiet since the discovery of Leta's body. But he walked forward, calm and collected and speaking with firm determination, "You can't kick him out of Valhalla. He knows too much, and if Wyatt gets his hands on that information, we would be in grave trouble."

There's too much logic to Chris' argument for my to entirely ignore it, and although I do not want to give in, I cannot let Derek fall into Wyatt's hands. I cannot put my sisters in any more danger.

"Very well," I said finally. Turning to Leo, I muttered tersely, "Keep him out of my sight. I never want to see his face again."

_**  
And all at once the crowd begins to sing  
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same  
**_

Leo POV

The cave that holds the giant cage where the warriors battle is almost completely silent. Freya stands alone, her arms crossed over her chest, staring into the sand and dirt arena between the bamboo bars. As I watch her, I am torn between sympathy and intense anger.

She doesn't look up, but says softly, "Was there something you wanted, Leo?" Her voice is tinged with a dark bitterness and I find myself flinching at her words.

"We need to talk, Freya."

She turns to face me, blonde hair flying about her face, eyes narrowed in pure hatred. "There is nothing to talk about. I spared Derek's life. I will not spare his son."

"Can't you at least try to see this from his point of view?" I ask gently. Unlike Freya, I understand the complete and total desire to protect a child, no matter the cost. Can I honestly say I would not have sacrificed Leta to keep Wyatt or Chris from dying? Probably not.

"His son is a murderer," Freya says coldly, and I wonder what words she uses to describe my eldest son.

"He's a grieving father," I protest cautiously, not wanting to spark her wrath. "He's so close to loosing his only son. Can't you understand what that does to someone?"

She shrugs. "No," she answers simply.

"Freya…" I begin, but she cuts me off sharply.

"Leo, I opened my home to you because you made a compelling argument about the need to fight the growing darkness and protect the innocent members of the magical community. I opened my home to your mortal brother-in-law because you made the argument that he was family and you couldn't leave him behind. And I have opened my home to other mortals as well. But what have I gained in return? A mortal who conspires to kill my sister. A incredibly powerful and immoral witch who wants to destroy all the Valkeries. And death. How can you continue to ask me to fight this fight when you won't let me rid ourselves of traitors and murderers?"

I swallow, my throat dry. "Derek is not a murderer," I whisper.

"Maybe not," Freya answers, "but his son certainly is. And if he continue to stand in the way of our justice, I will have no choice but to view him as an enemy as well."

"Freya…"

"This is a war, Leo, and we all have to pick sides. Make sure you know which side you are on."

She walks from the cave, and I watch her go in a glum silence. What can I say to convince her that the world is not as black and white as she views it?

I walk back out into the sunlight. All around me, I can hear the voices of people, talking, laughing, whispering, crying, begging, arguing. Life goes on all around us here. It's been one year since we officially began this Resistance, and in that time we have brought countless witches and other magical beings to safety with the protective enchantments of this island.

One year, and I am no closer to saving my son now than I was then. What happened to Wyatt, and how can I undo it? And even if I could undo it, how could I then fix all the damage he has wrought on this world?

"You told me once that this world was something worth fighting for," a voice says, and I turn slowly, not wanting to face another argument. I am too tired, and feeling way too old. But it is Myst standing behind me, and she doesn't look angry or annoyed. Just… sad.

"I've told a lot of people that," I answer, and I know it is true. I have tried, time and time again, to get the others to see the world the way I do. The bigger picture, greater than any of us. The interconnecting lives of a few billion people who call this planet their home. In the greater scheme of things, we are not any different from any other person on this planet, and we are rather insignificant.

It was an argument that Piper and I had many times. She didn't understand that I could see something larger than my family. But I am an angel, and Piper, for all her wonderful qualities, was still mortal and still liable to make the same mistakes the mortals made.

I wonder what she would say if she could see the world now.

"Derek's son will continue to fight us, and to kill. He is a threat to this world that we are trying to protect." Myst says the words simply, as though they provide the answer to all my arguments, and I know, in a way, that they do. But how can I condone killing another man's son?

"I know that, but if there is any chance that we can save him…"

"He's past saving, Leo," Myst replies. It strikes me then, as it often does when I talk to them, that the Valkeries can see the world much clearer than we do because their gaze is not muddled by emotions. Yes, they love and hate and fear and laugh. But not the way we do. For them, there is a bigger picture. They have a purpose, they are put on their earth for a reason. There is a grand design, and they see it. It is clear, and if one of their sisters became a threat to the others, they would kill her without hesitation.

And that is what strikes me as ironic. Freya, for all her anger at Derek, was still able to understand that we could not let him fall into Wyatt's hands. It was Chris' argument, logical and rational and well-reasoned, that saved Derek's life. Not the feelings of right and wrong, not some idea of "thou shalt not kill." Her calculations were purely utilitarian because though she and her sisters will take part in the final battle and fight on the side of Good, their concept of Good is not the same as ours.

They see the bigger picture.

Myst reaches out and places a hand on my arm. "Are you sure that your protection of Derek does not stem from a sense of guilt instead of a duty to do what is right?"

I let out a frustrated sigh. "I know that everyone thinks I am letting Derek guilt me into helping him because we weren't able to help him in the past. But it isn't that. I…"

"That's not what I meant, Leo," Myst says wearily. "I just… are you sure you are not so determined to defend Derek's son because you can no longer defend your own?"

I blink. Sometimes one of the Valkeries, Myst in particular, will say something and leave me completely blind-sided. I cannot react to her words, cannot think of a way to counter what she argues. She is right, of course. I am arguing to save Derek's son because of my own fears of Wyatt. But how can I admit that to her? How can I admit to anyone that I have come so close to loosing faith? I swore to myself that I would never give up on Wyatt. Why have I started to doubt?

Myst walks away before I can answer, a habit of hers that leaves he alone with my own troubled thoughts.

If I cannot save Wyatt, what will I do?

_**  
Maybe you want it, maybe you need it  
Maybe it's all you're running from  
Perfection will not come  
**_

Chris POV

"What is this place?" I asked as I looked around, taking a seat next to Bianca on the stone bench.

"One of the few parts of San Francisco not yet touched by your brother's destructive powers," the Phoenix answered with a soft smile. The ground beneath my feet is covered with a heavy blanket of green grass, and a few flowers poke through the dirt, bravely raising their colorful petals towards the sun. The small arboretum is surrounded my marble pillars, and behind the stone bench in a stature of an angel.

"It's beautiful. I don't think I ever knew about it when I was growing up," I breathed, pleased to find something so brightly alive in this dark world.

"My mother took me here a few times," Bianca answered. She wore a sorrowful expression on her face, as though she was remembering something she didn't want to think about. "Before she was killed. I loved it here."

"How did she die?" I ventured, wondering if I wanted to know the answer. I liked Bianca, that much was certain, but this feeling that was pumping through my veins and collecting in my chest was more than just platonic respect. Was it really safe for me to cultivate the feelings of an assassin? Even one who was on our side?

Bianca pulled idly at one strand of hair. "She was killed," she answered, "defending the clan. She saved my family. She died a hero."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I offered.

She looked at me, eyes narrowing slightly. Amusement tugged at the corner of her lips, a wry sort of laughter. "You move on. You have to. I imagine you've done the same."

I thought of my mother and aunts. Yes, I suppose I had moved on. They were dead now, and Wyatt was gone as well, torn away from me by some evil inside his own mind. All I was left with was Uncle Jason, my cousins, and my father. And even my father I never really had. The world always came first for him, and even now he barely spares me a glance. He focuses all his attention on Wyatt, on saving his firstborn, on fixing the world, and sometimes I wonder if he even sees me anymore.

"Wyatt doesn't suspect you yet?" I asked finally, changing the subject. "You aren't in any danger."

"Not yet. My clan is still too valuable to him. He won't get too suspicious for a while, I don't think." She looked down at the grass crumpled under our feet. "I'm good at what I do."

"I know," I answered.

A strange look passed fleetingly through her eyes, but when she glanced at me, I couldn't read it.

"How is Prue?" she asked abruptly. "Has she recovered from her run-in with those demons?"

I nodded slowly, thinking about my cousin. She was changing as well, although not in the way that Wyatt had. There was something about her, somehow she seemed to be made-up of hard lines and edges now. The softness, the gentleness, was gone.

But then, we'd all changed.

"She's Prue," I answered. "She survives." After a moment, I added, "But I don't think Uncle Jason will let her out of his sight for a while."

"He needs her," Bianca replied. "She is everything to him. She's all he has left."

I thought of my own father. He had lost everything as well. Even Wyatt was no longer his. All he truly had was me, and yet… Did he need me the way Uncle Jason needed Prue? Was I everything to him? Was I_anything_ to him?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Bianca asked gently.

"Just thinking about my dad," I replied, rubbing the back of my head absently and frowning thoughtfully at Bianca. "He keeps talking about saving Wyatt, like it the only thing in the world that matters to him. Bet he doesn't have a plan. None of us do. We don't know what we are doing and it is… discouraging."

Bianca smiled. "You're saving the world, Chris. It's not supposed to be easy."

I nodded, but the thoughts of just how hard saving everything might be were too depressing, so I reverted to the earlier subject. "How come you don't talk about your father? I've never heard you mention him." Did she have problems with her father as well, or was he even in her life at all? Had he ever been there for her?

"The Phoenixes are a matriarchal clan," she answered. "There are male Phoenixes, but my father wasn't one of them. He was a normal witch, and he was killed shortly after I was born." She didn't elaborate, and I knew better than to ask any more questions.

So instead, I acted on impulse. Leaning in towards her, I closed my eyes and let my lips brush against her own. She stiffened momentarily, before responding to the kiss, and for a moment I could forget that the world all around me had been destroyed.

Then she suddenly pushed me away and stood, rising quickly to her feet, a look of fear on her face. "I shouldn't have done that," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"I kissed you," I answered. "You don't need to be sorry. It was my fault." But I didn't view it as anything bad. I liked her, I really did, and was that something that she could blame me for? Besides, I could tell from her kiss that she liked me back. She hadn't been concerned until the end, until she had been spooked by something.

I studied her features. She was staring at me, but I couldn't read a single thought that passed behind those stunning brown eyes.

"It wasn't bad," I defended myself when it became clear that she wasn't going to speak. "I mean… I like you. And I was sort of hoping that you liked me too."

"I can't," she said, and they were not the words I had been expecting. "I just… Chris, this isn't right. It's dangerous. If we get involved, I won't be able to do my job."

"Why not?" I demanded. "Why would it matter? What needs to change?"

"Everything," she answered, and before I could get anything else from her, she had shimmered away.

_**And all at once the crowd begins to sing  
Sometimes,  
We'd never know what's wrong without the pain  
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same**_

Next Chapter: Colors On Canvas

Due: Sun 1/20


	27. Colors on Canvas

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter is focused solely on Wyatt. It gives a bit of a preview to what will happen in the next chapter with Kaia and Zankou, so if that part seems unclear to you, explanations are on their way.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Colors on Canvas

Freeing the inmates in the prisons had been his least favorite task. The idea had first been broached by Zankou, and he had almost automatically refused to consider it. Why would he waste his time with pathetic human criminals when he had an entire magical world to control?

But it had some merits and he couldn't deny the usefulness of Zankou's plan.

So he had broken into the prisons in San Francisco, and released the hoard of criminals onto the streets. It wouldn't be too long, he knew, until the President of the United States was forced to declare a state of emergency and then, with all the mortal resources directed at catching the escaped convicts, there would be no one to challenge him as he expanded his rule. The United States Senate was beginning to be more than just a nuisance to him with their continued interference in his activities. Their latest plans, which included the identifying and marking of all magical beings and the quarantine of any place known to house witches, were inflammatory at best and dangerous at worse. Sooner or later, Wyatt would simply have to put a stop to the governing body once and for all.

And this was the best way to do it.

Which would explain why he was now sitting on the chair in his darkened room, studying the man before him with a curious gaze.

Mathew Carlson. God only knew why he had been in jail in the first place, and Wyatt had no desire to ask. He was not afraid of this man with the dangerous gleam in his eyes because he knew, quite well, that he could take care of himself easily. One lousy human wasn't a threat to him.

The two demon guards that stood next to him seemed to think otherwise, and they bounced fireballs in the air, glaring menacingly at Mathew.

"What do you want from me?" Wyatt asked finally.

"I hear you're plan is to come up with a new world order," Mathew answered tightly, his eyes glittering. "I want in on that."

"I don't have room for mortal criminals in my plans," Wyatt answered calmly, rising to his feet. "I suggest you leave now, Mathew Carlson." He narrowed his eyes. "My sources tell me you have a family out there. A daughter, I believe. Shouldn't you be spending your free time with her?"

Mathew crossed his arms over his chest and stared back defiantly. Had he known how powerful Wyatt was, had he known that the Twice Blessed could incinerate him by merely blinking his eyes, he might have been more afraid. But his ignorance protected him, and he did not know the danger he was in by standing there.

"Anna is my concern, not yours," he snarled.

"Get rid of him," Wyatt ordered dismissively, turning his back.

The first demon stepped forward, but did not see the flash of metal as Mathew pulled an athame from his back pocket. The blade slid through the air, hitting the demon directly in the chest, causing him to scream as a rush of flames consumed him. The second demon lunged at the human, but Mathew threw himself to the floor and rolled out of the way. Rising to his feet again, he threw himself at the demon and managed to wrap his hands around the demon's throat, forcing his wrists to jerk sharply, snapping the demon's neck.

He stepped backwards as the demon dissolved into ash.

Turning to Wyatt, Mathew said casually, "Your demon guards are lousy."

Wyatt raised on eyebrow, now intrigued. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Prison," Mathew answered with a feral smile. "I learned how to stay alive, how to keep one step ahead of my enemies."

Wyatt reached out one hand and conjured Excalibur to him. The great sword glittered in the air, and he swung it with ease and confidence. "You won't be able to win a fight against me."

Mathew shrugged. "I don't really care," he answered honestly. "But your demons are gone now, so… it would appear that you have a job opening."

Wyatt smirked. "You vanquish my guards and then ask for their job?"

Mathew nodded.

Wyatt shrugged. "Very well," he said. "I'll give you a chance to prove your worth."

* * *

There were very few things in the world that disappointed him. He'd come to the point where he'd expected almost nothing from anyone, and so it was difficult to be upset when his demons failed in their tasks. And he expected nothing at all from those foolish magical beings who still clung to the labels of Good and Evil, so when the Elders turned their back on the world, when his father lead a Resistance against him, when witches began to defect and join the opposing team, he was not hurt.

But somehow, even though he knew it was fruitless, he'd still held onto his hopes for Chris.

But every day, Bianca waved off his concerns and said she was close and he just needed to be patient and she would succeed. And every day he wondered if she was purposefully delaying the inevitable.

He would bring Chris to his side, no matter what.

Which was why he sent Kaia to keep an eye on the Phoenix, just to make sure she was really on his side…

Which was also why he found himself both horrified and dismayed when the witch appeared before him, face flushed and eyes flashing, clearly the bearer of bad news.

"What did you see, Kaia?" he demanded wearily.

"Bianca and your brother," Kaia answered, lifting her gaze to meet his, "kissing."

* * *

When Bianca shimmered into the room, he let his eyes travel over her face, scrutinizing her expression. It was blank and calm and she looked no different than she always had. And yet, Kaia's statement echoed in his head, and he wondered if Chris had managed to turn Bianca away from him. Or was she simply playing his brother? Was this all part of her master plan?

"I asked you to bring my brother to me," he said finally. "I did not ask you to break his heart in the process."

She started, surprised, and he took pleasure in the fact that he had made her speechless, something that she rarely was. A trained assassin always thought one move ahead of the present, and should never be taken by surprise.

Her lips curled into a thin smile, and she answered, "I did nothing to encourage his attention. But once I had it, how could I turn it away? You told me to bring your brother back to you, by any means necessary."

"I wanted you to infiltrate the Resistance," he snapped. "I wanted you to bring them to an end."

"I will," she answered emphatically.

"When? How much longer will you make me wait?" he demanded.

She lowered her gaze, still smiling. "As long as it takes. Why are you in such a rush?"

He clenched his hand into a fist, watching as she raised both hands to her throat, gasping for air. She did not fall to her knees or quail in fear like other captured witches had done, but the look of pain in her eyes was enough for him to know that she was suffocating.

He released her and asked pointedly, "Do you defy me?"

"No."

"Do you love Chris?"

"No."

He rose. "Then you will not encourage his attentions, Bianca. I do not want him to fall for you, I do not want you to tear out his heart and trample on it." And he didn't want her to fall for him, didn't want her to turn her back on the task she was supposed to be completing.

"Fine," she said, her voice raw. She rubbed her throat.

"How much longer?"

"Just a few days," Bianca said with a sigh. "Just a few days."

* * *

"_Wyatt!"_

_His brother's cry, panicked and shaking with grief, jolted him from his thoughts, and before he could truly comprehend what he was doing, he had disappeared in a swirl of orbs. He reformed in the kitchen of the Manor, and the sight that met his eyes left him reeling with horror._

_His mother lay, sprawled on the floor, blood covering her broken body. Chris was kneeling next to her, holding tightly to her hand, his face streaked with tears._

_Wyatt rushed to her side, extending his hands, waiting for the golden glow. Nothing happened, no light appeared, and although he knew what that meant, he refused to believe it. She couldn't be dead, not now. She was the strongest of the Charmed Ones, stronger than anyone else in the world, and she wasn't supposed to die._

_He was dimly aware of his aunt Paige's arrival. He heard her words, muffled as though she was speaking from a long distance. "No… Piper…" and he knew she was crying as well._

"_Heal her!" Chris begged, his voice rising in volume. "Come on, heal her!"_

_Wyatt shook his head and looked away. "I… I can't…"_

* * *

I can't.

They were two words he was not used to saying, two words he never wanted to have to say again. He was the Twice Blessed, the Heir to Excalibur, the reincarnation of King Arthur, the Prophesized Golden Child. He was supposed to be able to do anything.

I can't.

He'd failed once, and it had cost him the world. His mother's lifeless body, her closed eyes, the blood seeping across the white-washed floor…

From that day forth, he had decided that he would never utter those words again. There would never be anything he couldn't do.

Ever.

* * *

When he first heard the rumors, he discounted them as jealousy. After all, it was Zankou who had started them, and the upper level demon wasn't fully trustworthy. Still, because the rumors had been about Kaia, who also wasn't fully trustworthy, he'd let them fester in the back of his mind, wondering.

Kaia was working with demons. Kaia was trying to overthrow him.

He shook his head. That was simply impossible. She might not be trustworthy, but she certainly wasn't that stupid.

And yet, she was the one he had put in charge of quelling the demonic factions that tried to overthrow him, and she had only partially succeeded in it. Was her failure because there were too many demons to completely destroy the threat, or was she simply not trying hard enough?

People did not disappoint him, and so he found himself not really that upset about the possibility that Kaia had turned against him. He had long since learned not to trust anyone, and she was just one more example of what happens when you give your trust.

* * *

He orbed into the Underworld, cloaked in the invisibility he knew not even the most powerful demon in the world would be able to penetrate. The demons had gathered in the cave, talking and growling in low voices. He inched forward, straining to hear their words, studying each face, memorizing every feature. It would have been simple enough, he knew, just to kill the demons. But that wasn't what he wanted, not yet. He needed information first.

He couldn't trust anyone, he knew that now. He would have sent some other demon or witch to do his work for him, but they were only good as soldiers, and mercenaries to be sent into battle. Given too much responsibility, and they would all ultimately turn on him.

"…continue spreading the rumors."

Wyatt snapped his head towards the demon who had spoken. It was not anyone he recognized, but clearly this demon was in charge.

"How much longer? When do we make our move?" another voice called out, whining plaintively. A murmur of agreement arose from the crowd, and the demon added, "We want to fight."

"One of us must contact Kaia tonight," the lead demon answered. "And the other must contact Zankou."

Wyatt started. Was Zankou in this also?

"The witch," one of the demons snarled, "should be killed right now. She's just a liability. Sooner or later, she will hear about the rumors we are spreading, and if she investigates and finds out our plans, we will never have the power to overthrow the Twice Blessed!"

Wyatt had heard enough. He slid noiselessly from the cave and orbed back to his home.

Zankou was betraying him. Zankou wanted to bring him down, wanted to kill him, wanted to take his empire.

And Kaia? Was she just an innocent caught in all of this, or was she also part of the plot?

Either way, he decided, both threats needed to be eliminated.

* * *

Growing up, people had invariably disappointed him. His father, for all the times that the Great Good was more important than his family. His mother, for the death she could not avoid. His aunts, for leaving them all behind, and Richard, for not having the strength to stay away from magic. Jason, for starting the Resistance, and his cousins for following suit. And Chris…

He'd gotten over the other disappointments. In the end, he realized it was really his own fault for ever thinking that they wouldn't_disappoint_ him.

But Chris?

He slammed his hand into the wall.

Chris' betrayal was still raw, still fresh, and it still hurt.

* * *

When Piper died, Chris collapsed at her side, sobbing. Paige stared into nothingness, wanting to avoid the uncompromising reality of what lay before her. Phoebe and Leo both fell to their knees in front of her grave, and Richard and Jason were forced to look away. When Piper died, Ria started having nightmares and Adam was suddenly terrified of the dark. Prue refused to come to the Manor, to step into the kitchen, because of the memories it held.

When Piper died, his family crumpled.

But Wyatt rose to his feet and orbed to the Underworld and vanquished every last demon that stood in his way, hunting for the demon that had killed his mother. He alone did not fall.

He was alone now, but he still refused to fall.

* * *

Next Chapter: Balancing Act

Due: 1/3


	28. Balancing Act

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Balancing Act

The demons gathered together, forming small clumps, speaking in hushed tones. The feeling in the Underworld was tense and filled with anticipation, and the demons shifted back and forth on their feet, milling around. On more than one occasion, a newcomer with shimmer or blink into the room, and everyone would look up with suspicion until the demon was identified as a friend and supporter.

Zankou was the last to appear. He walked forward briskly, unafraid. His casual confidence made him stand out from the others, and they gave him their attention, turning to him to lead.

"We will attack Wyatt's headquarters tonight at midnight," Zankou said. "The attack must be coordinated and swift. We will not stay long enough to get caught or identified. We must simply enter, vanquish as many demons and witches as possible, and leave."

"Why not stay and fight?" one of the demons, braver than the rest, asked defiantly, stepping forward.

"Do you want to die?" Zankou retorted viciously. "Because have no mistake about this, if you stay on Wyatt's turf any longer than absolutely necessary, he will find you and kill you."

"We are not afraid of the Twice Blessed," another demon called out, and his statement was met with agreeing murmurs that rushed through the crowd.

Zankou rolled his eyes. "If that is true, you really are a fool." A silence met his words, and he continued, "Can I trust you to attack according to the plan?"

A few of the demons nodded, but another asked, "And why have you asked us not to attack the witch?"

Zankou turned his gaze to the demon who had spoken. Since the exposure of magic, demons had had a free-for-all, using their powers in public, killing for sport in broad daylight. Not having to hide had made them weak and pathetic. Then Wyatt Halliwell had come and offered protection for anyone who supported him. Those who didn't kept their heads down and avoided being noticed, but they could still kill in plain sight and no one could stop them. But the witches were different, still afraid of being spotted, still not wanting to harm a human, never mind that the witch hunters were far from innocent. They were easy targets for demons and witch hunters alike, and any time the demons thought of witches, they viewed them as weak.

But the witches that worked for Wyatt were different. They fought back, swiftly, brutally. They were strong, powerful, and Kaia was one of the strongest. These demons might think she was easy pickings, but Zankou new better. She could hold her own in a fight, and probably best most of those gathered here.

No, the only way to stop her was to turn Wyatt against her. They couldn't take her by force, not without Wyatt finding out, and none of them could afford to face the Twice Blessed's wrath.

"She is powerful," Zankou said finally, "and she is important to my plan. You will not harm her, and anyone who does will have to answer to me. Is that clear?"

The demons nodded, averting their eyes, staring at their feet, shuffling about. Zankou allowed himself a brief smile of triumph. His plan would work, and tonight he would start the beginning of the end. Once he had systematically destroyed Wyatt's support among the more powerful witches and demons, he would move up in the ranks enough to become Wyatt's right-hand man. And then it was only a matter of time before he vanquished the Twice Blessed and took this empire for his own.

* * *

"Bianca, please, just listen to me," Chris begged as he caught the Phoenix's wrists moments before she could shimmer away. She'd come to Valhalla again, to report to Leo and Freya, and Chris wanted to talk to her about their kiss. She had avoided him as much as possible over the past week, but now it was time to have the conversation. No more procrastinating.

"Chris, we can't do this," Bianca pleaded. "Just… leave everything alone. I don't want… it is better if things aren't complicated."

Chris rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "My brother is the leader of the Underworld. My life is already complicated." He glanced around, making sure that they weren't being observed, but they were alone in the clearing. A dirt path wove through the grass behind him, and up ahead was the entrance to the cave where the giant cage was kept. Everything was silent, so much so that he could hear Bianca's anxious breaths and the steady beat of his own heart.

"Then there's no reason to make things worse," Bianca replied swiftly.

"Being with you wouldn't be worse," Chris answered honestly. Bianca flinched and looked away. Chris sighed, but pressed on regardless, "I like you. A lot. I… I might even love you. Possibly. I don't know. I just… I know you feel this way about me as well. I can sense it."

Bianca smirked slightly as she countered, "White-lighters don't have empathy, Chris, and you didn't get it from your witch side either."

"Tell me that you don't care about me," Chris challenged. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that I don't matter at all."

Bianca bit her lip as she slowly lifted her eyes to Chris. Wyatt had told her not to break his brother's heart. Wyatt had told her not to cause Chris any more harm than absolutely necessary. She needed to look him in the eyes and lie. She needed to tell him that he didn't mean anything to her.

But she couldn't.

She opened her mouth, and no sound came out.

"You do like me," Chris said softly, sliding his fingers onto Bianca's arm. "You maybe even love me."

Bianca didn't answer right away. Finally, she said, "I have a job to do, Chris. I can't do it if I… if I'm with you."

"Why not?" Chris demanded.

She gave a watery smile, almost wanting to tell him the truth. It would be so easy now to blurt out her real motives, to beg their forgiveness and hide in the safety of Valhalla. She loved Chris, and here she was, betraying him, selling him out to his own brother.

But the thought of her clan gave her pause. She couldn't tell Chris the truth, because if Wyatt found out that she had betrayed him, he'd kill all of them. Her entire family, gone. And it didn't matter that she'd stayed away from the Phoenixes, didn't matter that she didn't care for a lot of her clan and didn't believe in a lot of the work that they did. They were still her family and…

And Chris had killed her Aunt Tanya. The Phoenix Matriarch, dead by Chris' hands.

If she didn't betray Chris, she'd betray them. It was one or the other, and she had to pick sides. She couldn't be neutral, not in this world, not in this game.

She made her choice.

Giving a faint smile, she said, "How would we go on a date? I'm a high maintenance woman, I require only the very best."

Chris laughed. "How about I take you out tonight?" he offered. "I can come up with something very special, I promise."

Bianca hesitated. She was so close, so incredibly close. Just one more sentence, and Chris could walk directly into her trap. She needed to say it… for the sake of her family… "Tell me when and where."

Chris grinned, delighted. "How about we meet at the San Francisco Arboretum at seven o'clock tonight. I can borrow a pendant so I'll be able to get in and out of Valhalla." It was dangerous, of course, to do anything so frivolous out in the open where any demon of Wyatt's could find him, but Bianca was special and he wanted to make this a perfect night for her. Maybe it would convince her that they could actually work as a couple.

Bianca nodded, forced herself to agree, and then shimmered away before Chris could see the tears that were filling her eyes.

* * *

The President of the United States considered himself to be a powerful man. In fact, before the exposure of magic and the rise of Wyatt Halliwell, the President of the United States would have been considered the most powerful man in the world. He had everything at his fingertips; the ability to wage war, to offer peace, to pardon sinners, to punish the guilty. There was very little he couldn't do.

Which was why it was so infuriating to find that all this power could not bring him a step closer to capturing the blonde haired man they called the Twice Blessed.

Earlier in the month, the Senate had passed an initiative requiring all magical beings to be labeled as such. Instead of having the initiative followed, it had been mocked and ridiculed by members of this supernatural community. No one had agreed in the least, and, in fact, they had fought back.

He stared out the glass doors of the Oval Office, watching the sun traveling slowly through the brilliant blue sky.

Behind him, the two other men in the room stood as well, each with a contemplative expression on his face. The three of them had come together to discuss their next efforts in combating the menace of magic. This time, they would stop at nothing. The law hindered them, protecting the guilty and allowing the innocent to die, and it was time they moved past the laws and took matters into their own hands.

The second man was the first to speak. He was the Director of the Black Ops, a hidden division of the CIA. People barely even knew of his existence, and he had the power to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, without having to answer to the Senate or the House.

"Mr. President, while your plan has risks, I believe they can be minimized if we take certain factors into account."

The President turned to the Director. His eyes shifted between the two men, then he turned to the other and said, "What do you think, Senator?"

The Senator was from California, and so this matter struck him close to home. He was particularly interested in freeing his state from the torment of these witches, and he would stop at nothing to succeed.

"I agree, sir," the Senator answered. "The Director and myself have discussed this, and we believe it is our best option. We must stop this Halliwell."

"I could not agree more emphatically with that statement," the President mused. "Very well… tell me, what recommendations would you make?" He gestured for them to sit, and they collapsed quickly into the seats. The president sank into the chair across from them and waited with a patient expression.

"You plan to attack the Halliwell's headquarters tonight," the Director began. "However, by using the combined force of the elite groups within the Army and Air Force, and my own Black Ops units within the CIA, we can have a three pronged approach." He paused, waiting for the President to response. The other man nodded thoughtfully, giving silent agreement, and the Director continued, "We will attack the headquarters, the Halliwell Memorial Museum, and Chinatown."

"Why Chinatown?" the President asked curiously, surprised by the inclusion of that apparently innocuous neighborhood in the list of targets.

"Our sources have told us that Chinatown is home to many shops that sell magical and mystical herbs and the like," the Senator answered quickly. "It would not be overly difficult to destroy these places, hopefully inhibiting the ability of the Halliwell and his monsters to strike back all at once."

"He is powerful," the President cautioned. "Do not underestimate this Halliwell."

"We don't," the Director assured him. "But any harm we can do to the supernatural community will harm the Halliwell. It will weaken him, and it will send a message that we do not intend to simply roll over and play dead while he destroys the world."

The President narrowed his eyes and gave a grim smile. "Good," he said coolly. "He will learn that we can fight back." He folded his hands in his lap. "I will rid the world of these witches and restore safety and order. Magic may think it can destroy us, but it won't succeed. Not now, and not ever."

"When do we start the attack?" the Senator ventured.

"Tonight," the President decided.

* * *

Mathew Carlson tucked his daughter into bed, brushing a few strands of hair out of her sleepy eyes. She smiled at her, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, then leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

"Good night, Anna," he murmured.

"Good night, Daddy," the little girl responded, her high-pitched voice echoing in the room.

Her father rose and walked to the door of the room, flicking off the light as he did so. The room fell into darkness, and as he slowly closed the door behind him, he watched his daughter's eyes close as sleep finally claimed her.

In the hallway outside her room, the witch was standing.

Carlson observed her for a moment. She looked young, almost too young to be involved in this war. But he'd seen her fight and kill with grace and ease, and he knew better than to doubt her skills.

"Cure girl," the witch drawled.

"Leave my daughter out of this, Kaia," Carlson responded sharply, glaring at her.

Kaia shrugged. "I mean her no harm, mortal, but that doesn't mean harm won't befall her."

Carlson frowned, his eyes narrowed as he continued to glare at her. He knew the dangers of joining Wyatt. He had known them all along. But Wyatt offered him a chance to do something with his life, to fight again. It was better than being stuck in a prison, and it would give him the power and prestige he needed to make a name for himself. And if he had to kill anyone who stood in his way… so be it.

But Anna was his daughter, and he didn't want to risk anything happening to her.

Still, if he had Wyatt's protection, then they were probably safe. Or, at least, safer than they would be anywhere else.

"How do you explain your job to your daughter?" Kaia asked, smirking. "Does she want to know why Daddy comes home covered in blood?"

Carlson moved faster than Kaia could have predicted, and he'd pinned her against the wall before she registered his attack. Her head slammed into the wood, and for a moment she saw stars. He had a knife pressed against her throat, and his face was red with fury.

But she wasn't afraid.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and a moment later he was telekinetically thrown against the far wall.

"Impressive," she drawled. "But when you fight a battle, if you hesitate that long to kill someone, you'll find yourself dead instead."

Carlson pulled himself to his feet, still holding the knife in one hand.

Kaia pulled a photograph out of her pocket and tossed it to the other man. "This is your next target. She's just a mortal, but Wyatt wants her dead."

"Why?" Carlson asked.

"Does it matter?" Kaia answered pointedly.

Carlson shrugged. "Guess not," he agreed. "Consider it done." And he stuffed the picture in his pocket, tucked the knife into his belt, and prepared for his next task.

* * *

Next Chapter: Loyalties

Due: Wed 2/13


	29. Loyalties

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

People of Importance:

David, Lila, and Grishom: witches, members of the Resistance.

Landra: One of the Valkeries.

Kaia: A witch who works for Wyatt.

Matt: One of the Phoenixes and Bianca's second cousin.

Latere: A warlock against Wyatt.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Loyalties

Wyatt was waiting.

Hidden behind his invisibility, surrounded by a handful of upper-level demons, he watched as Bianca shimmered into the arboretum and settled herself on the marble bench. She appeared nervous, and kept running a hand through her hair. He studied her for a moment, then let his attention turn back to his plan.

In five minutes, Chris would appear. He would have the pendant with him, giving Wyatt the ability to enter Valhalla. In five minutes, Bianca would take the pendant from his little brother, and this two-year game of cat and mouse would finally be over. In five minutes…

He had other concerns to take care of tonight as well, and that made the victory a little less sweet. Instead of spending the first night talking to his brother, bringing Chris back to his side, he would need to concentrate his energy on the whispers from the Underworld, on the rising faction that opposed him.

Part of him almost relished the task of getting rid of those threats, however. If everything went according to plan tonight, he would finally bring an end to both his demonic and witch enemies.

A portal appeared, and Chris stepped out of it. He was accompanied by one of the Valkeries, a tall blonde with long straight hair and pale skin. Wyatt leaned forward and heard Chris say, "Thank you, Myst."

Myst glanced from Chris to Bianca, and replied, "No problem." But there was something in her eyes that said she did not like the entire situation, and Wyatt wondered if perhaps she had been suspicious of Bianca from the very beginning. Or, he thought in sudden amusement, did she also like Chris, and was this just jealousy?

"If you leave the pendant with Chris, we won't have to bother you to get back into Valhalla," Bianca suggested, barely giving Myst a spare glance, then turning her attention back to Chris. She took his hand with a smile, and he grinned back.

"It wouldn't be a bother," Myst answered coolly.

Chris turned to the other woman and extended his hand. "Just give it up, Myst. I promise we will take good care of it and return it to you when we come back." Myst hesitated, and he said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but if Bianca and I decide to return to Valhalla and we are… immodestly dressed… I'm not about to call one of the Valkeries for entrance. Give me the pendant."

Myst wrinkled her nose at Chris' words, and Bianca raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think this date is going to end up with us being… undressed?" she asked teasingly.

Myst opened a portal back to Valhalla with the pendant, then took it from her neck and gave it to Chris. "Have fun," she said, unable to keep some of the sarcasm out of her voice. Then she stepped through the portal and was gone, and Wyatt knew his chance was almost at hand.

"I don't think she likes me very much," Bianca said softly, shaking her head.

Chris shrugged, unconcerned by that particular idea. Myst's good opinion meant something to him, but he was starting to care about Bianca enough to ignore any of the people who might disagree with him. He began to pocket the pendant, but Bianca reached out and stopped him, resting her hand on his arm.

"Here, let me hold onto it," she suggested, and he handed it over without a question. She let the leather thread slide through her fingers as she stared at the polished green stone. "So," she murmured, "you have something special planned?"

"I do," Chris answered, resting his hand on her waist. "Something very special indeed."

Bianca looked at him, and suddenly the look in her eyes sent shivers down his spine. She stepped away from him and said in a voice of forced calm, "So do I."

And Wyatt threw off his invisibility cloak and he and his demons suddenly appeared around Chris. The brunette witch-lighter looked aghast at Bianca, at the pendant clutched tightly in her hand, at the way her gaze now moved past him to Wyatt as though she had known he was there all along.

Because she had.

This was a set-up.

The irony of it was that Chris couldn't even muster the strength to be angry. He knew he should, and yet, somehow, all the other emotions in his body were competing for his attention, and all he really felt was an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

The anger, he knew, would come later.

"Come on, Chris," Wyatt said, walking forward confidently. He stared solely at his brother, as though no one else was there. He didn't care about the demons or Bianca, right now the only one who truly mattered was standing directly in front of him, jade green eyes wide with a flurry of intense emotions. "Come home."

It was those words that galvanized Chris into action, and he flung out his arm, telekinetically attacking Wyatt, and crying to the heavens, "Dad! Ria, Adam! Help me!" Anyone with white-lighter blood would hear him, and he could only hope that they would come running in time to save him and retrieve the pendant from Bianca.

Wyatt rose to his feet and dusted himself off. "That was stupid," he said coldly. Turning to the demons, he ordered, "Seize him," and within moment Chris found himself caught tightly in the grasp of Wyatt's minions.

Another flurry of orbs signaled the arrival of Leo, but before he could take full form, Wyatt, Bianca, and his demons had disappeared, taking Chris with them. The white-lighter caught only a glimpse of Chris being hauled away before both his son's were out of sight, and he was left to vent his frustration to the empty air.

* * *

He orbed into total chaos. 

The first thing Wyatt saw when he arrived at his headquarters were the dead bodies of several humans, all wearing the same uniform of the United States Army, scattered about the grassy lawn that sloped downwards from the door to his building. Closer to the doors, he saw other causalities, wearing the uniforms of the Air Force and of the CIA, their dead bodies spilling blood onto the ground.

From inside, he heard the sound of fighting.

Chris was struggling in his captors' grip, and Wyatt turned to Bianca and ordered tersely, "Strip his powers. Then get in there and kill every last human that is attacking me." Without waiting to see his orders followed, he orbed away in a swirl of blue and black.

Bianca walked over to Chris, placing the pendant in her pocket as she did so. Standing in front of him, she took in the hate in his eyes, but refused to let her own guilt and grief show on her emotionless face. Shoving her hand directly into Chris' chest, she watched as the rush of white and gold light flooded through her arm, and his powers were absorbed into his own body.

"Don't fight this, Chris," she whispered. "Don't fight Wyatt. He'll let you live if you just agree with him." She removed her arm from his body, and he fell forward. He would have collapsed to his knees had the demons not held him upright, but when he lifted his face to look at her, the weariness did not show in his eyes.

Instead, he was staring at her with pure fury. "Go to hell," he snarled.

She flinched, but turned to the demons and said, "Take him inside. Keep him safe."

And she shimmered into the building. Smoke billowed through the hallways, and the air was heavy with the scent of charred wood and ash. She squinted, trying to discern from the moving figures which were demons and which were humans. She could barely make out Kaia, engaged in fierce combat with three different men, all firing guns and strange stun-weapons at her.

Bianca shimmered to the other witch's side and grabbed one of the men, throwing him easily into the wall. The other two turned to her, but she kicked one to the ground, and Kaia slammed her fist into the other, and both were momentarily stunned.

"What the hell happened?" Bianca asked, pulling Kaia away from the fight. Something collided into the wall next to her, and she jumped away just in time as the entire ceiling collapsed where she had been a moment before.

"We were attacked," Kaia answered. "These guys are good, and they were sent by the government. But we've managed to keep them at bay so far, they haven't gotten past the first floor."

"Why weren't we warned?" Bianca asked. "Why didn't Zankou know what was happening?" He was in charge of keeping Wyatt appraised of the happenings in the government to avoid exactly this type of situation.

Kaia shrugged. Before she could respond, however, the sound of gunfire filled the air next to them, and Bianca shoved them both to the ground, out of the way of the attack. Behind her, the wall was riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks.

Crouched on the floor, Kaia hissed, "Look, we received word that they attacked at the Museum and in Chinatown. Most of the demons went to Chinatown, and the Phoenixes and a few other witch clans are at the Museum. Go there and help."

Bianca nodded and shimmered away.

The Halliwell Manor was in a similar state. She reappeared in the attic, and was immediately greeted by two men with guns. She killed the first one before he could fire his weapon, and dodged out of the way of the second. Conjuring an athame, she threw it with unerring accuracy at her opponent, then turned away as he fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

Across the room, two Phoenix's were engaged in a furious battle with six men. None of them had guns, but all of them had knives, and she could see that the assassin witches were far outnumbered.

"Bianca, look out!"

She heard the scream and automatically ducked, registering a moment later the burst of fire that exploded over her head. She spun on the floor, and caught sight of another man, standing near the back of the room, holding a flare gun in his hand.

The Phoenix who had screamed the warning came to her side, and she saw that it was Matt. He pulled her to her feet, and the two of them took stock of the situation just as more Army and Air Force men rushed into the room. They were vastly outnumbered, but Bianca was not one to back down from a fight, not when her life and the survival of her clan was one the line.

She and Matt simultaneously conjured energy balls, and the battle began in earnest.

* * *

"Wyatt has him," Leo said, slamming his fist into the wall of the cave. "He has Chris, and…" He trailed off, shaking his head, still seething with anger and frustration that he hadn't gotten there in time to save him. 

"And the pendant," Myst said, entering the cave.

Freya looked between the two, her expression worried, but determined. She was trained to keep a cool head in situations like these, and with Leo falling apart, she needed to make sure they were prepared for whatever would happen.

"Why was Chris out there?" she asked finally, trying to understand what had happened.

"He was with Bianca," Myst answered. "They were going on a date." Her expression twisted into a sneer of disgust, and she rolled her eyes. "We never should have trusted her."

"You think she set him up?" Freya demanded. Myst shrugged, the look on her face clearly answering that question, and Freya frowned, wondering. It was true that Bianca was not the most trustworthy, being an assassin and a spy, but would she have really turned on them like this?

"It doesn't matter if he was set up or not," Leo hissed. "We need to find him."

"It does matter," Freya countered calmly, "because if it was a setup, then Bianca has access to Valhalla. She has the pendant, and if she gave it to Wyatt…" She didn't need to finish the thought, they all understood the repercussions on this.

"So what now?" Myst asked.

"Leo and I will organize a group to rescue Chris…" she looked at Leo and added, "or, at least, to determine where he is and plan the next stages."

"No," Leo argued passionately. "We need to go for him now. Every minute we wait is another minute that he is with Wyatt." He was not about to lose one son to the other, not if he could help it. But her Freya was, dragging her feet, refusing to do what was needed.

Freya narrowed her eyes at Leo and replied pointedly, "And if he can't be rescued? Leo, we can't just rush into an unknown situation. I want to save Chris too, but we need to plan this out or we will just end up getting ourselves killed, and Chris will still be in Wyatt's hands."

"I don't think…" Leo started, but Freya cut him off sharply.

"I don't care what you think, Leo," she said, raising her voice until it shook with power. Both Myst and Leo dropped back in surprise and awe, having rarely seen Freya use this type of authority. At some other point in the past, she would have agreed with Leo, or at least shown his idea more respect. But the recent arguments over the Manticore child and Kyra's death had pushed her past the point of reason, and she no longer wanted to waste her breath trying to appease him.

"Freya," Leo began again, hesitantly, but the leader of the Valkeries continued, ignoring his interruption.

"I make the final decision regarding my sisters and my home. And I am telling you now that this plan is not open to negotiations. I won't let you put anyone else at risk." Freya paused, then turned to Myst. "In the meantime, you organize an exodus. If Wyatt has the pendant, we will all need to leave, and quickly. Understand?"

Myst nodded, gave both Leo and Freya an apprehensive look, and walked from the cave.

* * *

In retrospect, Zankou decided that he should have known the demons would never wait until midnight, not when there was so much fighting right now. The moment the news reached the Underworld, the moment they all knew that Wyatt was engaged in a battle with humans sent by the United States government, the rebellious demons flocked to the surface, wanting to fight. 

Everything turned into utter chaos.

Inside Wyatt's headquarters, no one could tell who was fighting for which side. The smoky air was filled with bullets and bursts of flame and energy balls. The ground was littered with fallen bodies, slick with blood and sweat.

Some of the demons were having a field day. Able to kill anyone and anything that moved without fear of repercussions, they carelessly flung energy balls and fire balls, cackling madly at the death that surrounded them. It made Zankou sick to his stomach, this deranged killing spree. Battles, he had always believed, should never be this sloppy. The true beauty of a kill was the skill behind it, and this reckless destruction was neither skillful nor beautiful. It was simply a group of incompetent demons pretending to be more powerful than they really were.

It was in the middle of this fight, that he found himself face to face with Kaia. The witch gave him a dismissive glance, then said sarcastically, "Nice job warning us about this one."

Zankou clenched his fists tightly at her words. Anger sparked into his eyes. This young witch had a way of getting under his skin and mocking him, something that he had not experienced in a very long time. He was used to people, demons and witches alike, quailing in fear at the sound of his name.

Zankou pointed to all the demons who were now very clearly attacking Wyatt's followers. "Nice job warning us about all those rebellious factions. Wasn't it your job to destroy them?"

"Oh, don't worry," Kaia sneered, "I will."

She moved away, fading into the crowded, jumbled chaos, and Zankou watched her go with a satisfied smile on his face.

"No," he whispered under his breath. "You won't."

A sudden swirl or orbs signaled Wyatt's arrival, and the demon turned to look at the Twice Blessed witch. The blonde looked angry, downright furious. His sky blue eyes were navy, almost black, and his skin was glowing with power that flowed through his veins.

"_Enough_!" he bellowed, throwing out his hands in one rage-filled movement. At once, a burst of yellow energy sprung from his palms, flowing through the hallway, destroying everything in its path. Demons and humans alike went up in a sudden burst of energy, turning into ash and dust. Zankou barely managed to avoid being hit by throwing himself behind Wyatt in just the nick of time.

Then there was silence. Wyatt fell to his hands and knees, weak and gasping for breath. The amount of power he had used left him drained. He swallowed, clambering slowly to his feet, and staring at the destruction that spread out around them, filling the hallway with the dust-like remains of demons and people.

Usually he could control his energy blasts, creating them in such a way that only his enemies were destroyed. But in the heat of the battle, and with all the confusion around him, there was no possible way he could have determined who was an enemy and who was an ally. So he had simply destroyed everything and everyone.

Zankou pushed himself away from the wall and took a few steps further into the hallway. The sudden stillness left him unnerved, but as he scanned the area around him, he knew there was no way anyone could have survived that blast.

Wyatt, meanwhile, looked up at the ceiling. "I don't think anyone breached to the second floor," he muttered, more to himself than to Zankou.

"There was an attack at the Manor also. And throughout all of Chinatown," Zankou said, turning around and looking at Wyatt. With all the demons suddenly dead, his chances of betraying Wyatt and framing Kaia were gone. All he could do was hope to salvage the ruins of his plan and create something useful out of them.

"So, the government mounts an all-out attack on magic," Wyatt mused. He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't like this," he continued, his voice growing cold. "They need to be taught a lesson."

"Indeed," Zankou agreed.

Without another word, Wyatt orbed away, and Zankou frowned thoughtfully at the place he had stood. Then he began to pick his way through the mess, careful to step over the shards of broken glass and the fragments of wood and stone that littered the floor.

Then he paused, his eyes going to a body that lay on the floor, apparently killed by Wyatt's energy blast. He flipped the body over, smiling slightly as he took in Kaia's still form, closed eyes, and silent heart. It wasn't quite the way he had imagined this battle ending, but it was good enough. She was dead, and for now, that was all that mattered.

"Well, I see your plan went well," a voice said mockingly, and Zankou straightened and twisted around to stare at a warlock who was standing behind him. "Attack and midnight, you said," the warlock continued, "but you couldn't even convince a group of demons to do that. They didn't listen, wouldn't follow your orders. Pathetic."

Zankou eyed the demon coldly, then answered, "It wasn't my fault they were too stupid to listen to reason."

"How do you expect to do anything, if you can't get demons to follow you?" the warlock hissed in reply.

Zankou raised his hand, electricity sparking at his fingertips. "Would you like to challenge me?" he asked menacingly.

The warlock rolled his eyes. "There are still battles going on at the Museum and in Chinatown, and Lord Wyatt wants to attack the President. This would be a golden opportunity for you to take power, while he's busy dealing with all the other problems. If only you knew how…"

"And let me guess," Zankou said coolly, "you think you know? You think you can get the Underworld to back me in this?"

"I can a do better job than you did," the warlock answered. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, "Of course, that isn't actually saying much."

"Go to hell," Zankou spat.

"Hm… been there, done that," the warlock answered simply.

Zankou rolled his eyes, then asked finally, "What's your name and what gifts do you have?"

"Latere," the warlock replied. He folded his arms over his chest and added, "And let's just say I have fun with people's heads." Tilting his head to the side, he added, "And I do love stirring up trouble."

Intrigued, Zankou said slowly, "I'm listening."

* * *

"It looks like its pretty obvious Bianca betrayed him," Freya muttered under her breath and she lead the few witches along the dirt path towards the cave. "I left Leo with Jason, trying to come up with a plan of attack." 

"How long do you think they are going to wait?" Lila asked with a frown. "Leo probably just wants to orb off and save him right now."

Freya agreed with a nod. "He's not thinking clearly."

"It is his son," David said softly, glancing between Lila and Freya. "You have to understand his point of view."

"I do," Freya answered calmly, "but I won't let him endanger the rest of us. I've opened up my home to him and the rest of you, letting you base a Resistance against the strongest witch to ever live right here. It has cost me, but I won't let it destroy us."

"If Wyatt has the pendant…" Grishom ventured.

"I know," Freya snapped. "I _know_." They were all in danger, and time was running out.

"So what now?"

Freya paused, looking at Prue. The young witch was standing in the center of the group, her hands on her hips. She clearly did not like the idea of leaving Chris to his fate, but she hadn't spoken out against Freya yet, something that both bothered and pleased the leader of the Valkeries.

"If it is possible to save Chris," Freya answered, "we will do it."

"Our reports from the outside have indicated that Wyatt is currently fighting a battle against both humans and demons," Prue pointed out. "This would be a good time to attack, while he is distracted."

Freya allowed a small smile to curve the corners of her lips. "And rush into something blind? We don't even know where Chris is."

"So you want to leave him? Is that it?" David questioned with a scrutinizing stare.

Freya turned to look at him. Once again, she was disturbed that this question had come from someone other than Prue. She had assumed that the young girl would have done anything necessary to bring her cousin back to safety, and so her relative silence was surprising.

"Of course not," Freya said finally. "Why do you think I asked all of you to come here?"

"You have a plan." It was not a question, but rather Prue said it with such calm assurance that Freya started and gave the girl a penetrating stare.

"Something like that," Freya agreed. "Like you said, Wyatt is busy right now. Consider this a reconnaissance mission. You will enter his stronghold with Landra to act as a guide," she nodded to the woman who had just joined the group, "and you will try to find both Chris and Myst's pendant. You will not engage in combat unless absolutely necessary. Understand?"

"Are Dad and Uncle Leo coming?" Prue asked.

Freya shook her head. "Your father is a mortal, and would be a no help. Leo is… he'd be more of a liability than a help."

"She's right," Landra agreed, instantly backing her leader.

Prue hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I suppose," she agreed readily enough.

As the others prepared to leave, Freya walked briskly away, searching out Myst. She found the other blonde standing beside one of the many streams, watching the water rush over the rocks.

"I thought you were organizing a departure?" Freya questioned, approaching her friend and sister.

Myst looked up, startled, then answered, "I did. I spoke to everyone I could find. If we need to leave, I'll sound the alarm and they will all know to come to the cave. I sent a couple of our sisters to search out hiding places. We will have to use the safe-houses until we come up with a better plan."

Freya accepted this answer, then said, "Prue did not seem as upset as I thought she would when I told them that we were going to wait before saving Chris."

Myst shrugged. "She understands that sometimes the good of the world… or the Resistance… must come before the good of everyone else."

But this did not reassure Freya. "She's human, Myst. She's a mortal. That isn't something she's supposed to understand. She's supposed to want to save her family, no matter what."

"Times have changed," Myst answered with a touch of irony. "People changed as well."

Freya raised one eyebrow, but didn't comment. She wanted them all to understand that, to see that one person was not as important as the entire world. It was her main grievance with mortals, that they could never see past their own trivial lives. Even Leo, an angel who should have known better, sometimes forgot the bigger picture.

But now that Prue seemed to understand the one thing she had always wanted them to comprehend…

Somehow, this just didn't seem right to her.

* * *

Bianca darted away from yet another demon that attacked, and wondered just how many different enemies they were fighting. She'd been targeted by both demons and humans, and was rather confused as to who she was supposed to be fighting. She'd been separated from Matt a while ago, and part of her just wanted to leave the entire scene and disappear for good. 

The pendant still rested in the folds of her pocket, and she had no idea what to do with it. She was supposed to hand it over to Wyatt, who would be thrilled to see that she had finally completed her task, but every time she thought of that, she remembered the look on Chris' face when he said he loved her, or the way he smiled at her when she agreed to the date, before he knew of her betrayal and…

Could she really do it? Could she do the one thing that would destroy everything Chris had worked for?

But she was an assassin. Her loyalty was not to her target, but to her boss. It was Wyatt she worked for, and Chris was just a means to an end.

Right?

Her hands were covered in human blood. The athame held tightly in her fist was slick and sticky with the crimson liquid. Her black pants and black shirt were stained in places, the metallic fluid drying into a blackish-red. Killing was a messy business when it was done this brutally, this viciously. As a Phoenix, most of her kills had been done quickly, and with little thought or time spent with the actual victim. A simple knife to the throat or energy ball to the back, and she never really had to get her hands dirty.

But all-out fights like this one… It was kill or be killed, and the enemies kept coming.

She thought of Chris again. It was an all-out fight, kill or be killed… but what do you do when someone you love walks into your line of fire?

Matt appeared abruptly at her side in a ripple of air. "This is ridiculous!" he spat, wiping blood from his face. "It's like the entire Underworld decided to attack today. What is going on?"

Bianca shrugged. "I don't know. And how did the government attack without us knowing?"

Matt ran a hand through his black hair. His fingers were coated with blood as well. "I don't know. Doesn't Lord Wyatt have spies or something?"

Bianca was about to answer just as another demon flamed into the room. She threw her athame, but the demon easily side-stepped it and countered with an attack of it owns. Both Matt and Bianca shimmered out, then Matt reappeared behind the demon, flinging an energy ball into his back.

As that demon went up in flames, several more burst into the room, and Bianca turned back to the fray.

_Five-year-old Bianca sat on her bed, reading a comic book and peering through the partially open door into the living room where her mother and aunt were arguing. The Matriarch of the clan had stopped by to speak to her younger sister, and Lynn had not been pleased by the interruption. Although the two were very close, that didn't mean that they always agreed on everything._

"_I'm telling you, Lynn, she's special."_

"_I know she's special," came Lynn's voice, replying in anger. "She's my daughter."_

"_Special to the clan," Tanya elaborated. "Look, you might not believe me, but I promise you, destiny has picked your daughter for something great."_

"_Oh, please, this is just your way of trying to convince me to let you train her."_

"_What is good for the clan…"_

"_I know," Lynn cut in again. "Look, Tanya, I don't doubt that Bianca is something special. And maybe you are right and she is going to do something remarkable later in life. But she is still my daughter, and I am not going to hand her over to you and the other elders of our clan just because you want me to."_

_Little Bianca turned back to her book. She didn't know what all their arguments meant, but as long as she wasn't going to be separated from her mother, she didn't mind so much._

She wondered, as she often did, what her mother and aunt would think if they could see her now. Destiny had picked her for something unique. She could destroy the Resistance with one single action. By giving Wyatt both his brother and his enemies, she could forever ensure the safety of her clan. They would always be under Wyatt's protection.

And yet…

How many times had she seen Wyatt callously kill someone? How many times had his demons murdered for fun and sport?

Why did she care? Good and evil weren't supposed to matter to her. She was an assassin. She was a hired gun. She was not supposed to concern herself with the rest of the world.

Right?

* * *

Next Chapter: Cry Your Name 

Due: Sun 2/24


	30. Cry Your Name

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter is on the shorter side. I kept trying to add to it, but came back to the same conclusion – that I really liked where I had ended it originally, and it was just going to have to stay like that.

* * *

Chapter Thirty: Cry Your Name

Landra and Myst ended up leading the reconnaissance mission, and they were accompanied by Prue, David, and Lila. But as the portal closed behind them, leaving them standing in the middle of Wyatt's domain, two more figures charged through, intent on joining the group. Jason and Derek stood there, dusting themselves off and staring defiantly at the others, as though daring the two Valkeries to challenge their decision.

Landra said nothing. Instead, she turned her attention to the destroyed building, and asked in a worried tone, "What happened here?"

"An energy blast," Prue answered calmly. "One of Wyatt's tricks. Looks like he took out half his demons with it, though. I guess he was too concerned with stopping the attackers to care about who else got caught in the crossfire."

Myst turned sharply to Prue. "Do you know where Chris would be?"

Prue shook her head. "I've never been here before. Not to this particular building, anyway."

"We should have brought Leo, Adam, or Ria," Myst muttered. "Someone to sense for Chris."

But Prue countered that idea immediately. "Wyatt knows that we would come for Chris. He'd have made sure to block us from sensing his whereabouts." She picked her way through the rubble and body-strewn floor, heading towards the stairs. "Our only chance is just to spread out and see what we can find."

"No," Myst said sharply. "We are not spreading out. It's too dangerous. Let's stick together." Turning a cold gaze to Derek, she added, "And that means you as well. You run off and try to find your son, and we'll leave you here to die. Got it?"

Derek glared at her and did not reply.

* * *

The manor was almost completely destroyed. The battle had taken its toll on the old building, and as Wyatt wandered through the hallways, he stared in some dismay at the destroyed artifacts. He knew he could fix all the damage, one or two simple spells could set everything right again. But still… how dare these mortals attack him in such a sacred place? 

His demons and witches had fought back, and well. No mortal who had attacked was left alive, and they had won the fight. There were casualties on his side as well, particularly among the witches who still died like most mortals, and among the few humans who had fought for him. But they were all unimportant pawns in the greater scheme of things, and he would not waste breath grieving for them.

His mind wandered to the problem of Zankou. He was now sure that the demon was planning to betray him, and perhaps had orchestrated at least one of the attacks that had come tonight. Kaia, he knew, was dead, collateral damage in the fight against the enemy. He felt the slight stirring of remorse at that, because he was fairly certain now that she had been on his side all along, and he had just lost a powerful soldier. Still… she could be replaced.

But Zankou… that was a problem.

He walked down the steps of the manor, coming to a halt in the foyer. It had been filled with costumes his mother and aunts had worn, reminders of a time when they were the greatest power in the world, when they spent their lives fighting enemies. Now, it was filled with charred wood and shattered glass and blood.

"Let the object of objection become but a dream as I cause the seen to become unseen," Wyatt murmured, and a moment later the foyer was glittering with white and blues lights, and then it was back to normal, back the way he had wanted it.

With that task taken care of, he made a mental note to find Bianca and get the pendant from her later. For now, he had a brother to deal with. With that thought in mind, he orbed away.

He reappeared in a softly decorated bedroom with pale blue walls and navy blue trim. The carpet under his feet was soft and cushioned, and the window to his right looked out over the city, opening up to the dark night sky. But he did not care about any of that, and instead focused all of his attention on the boy huddled in front of him.

"What, no dungeon? And here I was expecting a cave with chains and a cage." Chris didn't even look up as he spoke, instead content to stare at his own hands. He was perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a blanket.

"That's a little cliché, don't you think?" Wyatt answered. "This isn't a fairy tale and I'm hardly the evil villain of the story."

Chris rolled his eyes, but still refused to look at Wyatt. Gesturing to the room around him, he said, "I see you chose to stick with a familiar decorating motif?" The room looked almost exactly the way Wyatt's room had looked when he was just a toddler, when their mother had spent hours slaving away over the paint on the walls an carefully arranging the furniture to suite her taste.

"I've kept some of the rooms the same," Wyatt answered. "Your old room is here to."

That caused Chris to look up briefly at Wyatt, but just as soon as he met his brother's dark blue eyes, he looked away again. "So you've turned this into a homey prison?"

"It's not a prison, Chris," Wyatt said in exasperation.

Chris almost laughed at his brother's words. "Wyatt, you kidnapped me, had my powers stripped, and locked me in a room. What do you call this?"

"Home," Wyatt said simply. "This is home."

Chris shook his head. "How can you call it that? How can you think that any of this is our home?"

"I'm your brother, Chris. Your home is with me."

"Brother?" Chris sputtered. "You… you sent someone to spy on me, to betray me! Did you get a laugh out of that one, _brother_? Did you enjoy the fact that Bianca was getting so close, that she was able to rip my heart out and break it? Was that fun for you?" Bianca had been one of the best things to happen to him in a very long time, and the few moments of the day that they could spend laughing and flirting were as close to normal as he'd gotten in a really long time.

It figured that she'd have been sent by his brother.

"That wasn't…" Wyatt trailed off, upset by Chris' obvious distress. "I didn't want her to do that, Chris. That wasn't part of the plan. I didn't think… I just told her to get close to you. Not to pretend to be in love with you."

Chris glared at Wyatt, full of fury and anger. "Well, she apparently had other plans."

"I just want you on my side, Chris. Is that really so difficult for you to understand?" Wyatt said, sitting down in one of the armchairs across from the bed. Chris was still glaring at him, and the hatred in his brother's eyes bothered him much more than he would have ever wanted to admit.

"Yes," Chris answered honestly. "How can you expect me to take your side when you do this to me? You turn your back on everything this family has ever stood for. You tear me away from the rest of our family, from Uncle Jason, Prue, Ria and Adam… even Dad. And you want me to join you?"

"The Good that this family stood for turned its back on us," Wyatt answered calmly. "How can you have been so foolish as to fall for all their lies?"

"Lies?"

"You still believe in the Greater Good. You still believe that things happen for a reason. You still believe that this ideal, this vague belief, is something worth fighting for."

Chris crossed his arms over his chest. "I believe that killing people is wrong, Wyatt," he answered fiercely, "and there was a time when you believed that, too."

"There was a time when Mom was still alive," Wyatt answered through clenched teeth, voice shaking with barely restrained wrath and hurt. "There was a time when Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Paige hadn't been killed. There was a time when we were still a happy family, and I was still naïve enough to believe that we could keep it like that."

"What about the rest of us?" Chris whispered, his eyes burning with unshed tears at the mention of all the deaths. "What about me and Prue and Ria and Adam? We're still alive, yet you've turned your back on us, on what we believe."

Wyatt shook his head slowly. "No, Chris, it is you four who have turned your backs on what I believe. If you all came back to me, I'd forgive you in a heartbeat. You _know_ that. But still, you refuse, you stay away."

"Wyatt…"

"Remember Anya Lakin, remember Nathaniel Pratt, remember the Chairman of the Witch Hunters? Remember all the people who tried to separate us?"

"All the people you killed?" Chris hissed. Pratt and the Chairman had both met early and unfortunate ends at Wyatt's hands, and yet somehow the Twice Blessed still justified everything he had done.

"Pratt wanted to blackmail us, threatened to expose us if we did not do what he said. The Chairman was going to have us burned at the stake," Wyatt answered in a low growl. "I prevented those men from destroying us, and there was a time when you agreed with me!"

"Mom would not have…"

"Well, Mom isn't here, is she?" Wyatt snapped, finally losing his patience. "And when they were all a threat, Dad didn't come and the Elders didn't interfere and the Cleaners weren't sent to clean up the exposure. No, it was just me taking care of things, me keeping us safe. Because, once again, the Greater Good had bailed on us!"

Chris didn't answer. Instead, he lowered his jade green eyes and stared again at the floor.

* * *

It wasn't until a while after the battle that Matt first noticed her absence. The other Phoenixes had all shimmered away to take care of themselves and their wounded, but Bianca was nowhere to be found. He tried sensing for her, using an old Phoenix magic that allowed them to locate other members of their clan. But their was a void where she used to be, a sudden emptiness. She was either blocking herself from them all, or… 

No. If she was dead, he would know, he would feel it.

She had the pendant. With the pendant, they could destroy the Resistance. Delivering this to Wyatt would make a name for themselves, would place them in a position far greater than any other clan. Bianca was the key to their continued prestige and survival.

So what had happened to her?

She might have already gone to Wyatt. The Twice Blessed had the ability to cloak anyone, and might have been cloaking her to prevent any renegade white-lighters or Resistance members from trying to retrieve the pendant.

But why wouldn't Bianca have told him she was going to see Wyatt? Why would she have simply disappeared? It didn't sound like her at all.

Of course, he hadn't seen her in a while, not since Wyatt's tasks had taken him far away from the others. He'd been on missions for a long time, and it was quite possible that something had happened, that Bianca had changed sides, and he didn't know.

But why would she change sides?

None of this made any sense, but he knew he needed to find Bianca, and fast.

* * *

The demons had returned. They wandered through the hallways, red and yellow eyes gleaming in the dimly lit corridors. The small reconnaissance group was forced quickly to hide, slipping in and out of the shadows, attempting to avoid any confrontations or conflicts. 

It was Prue who first heard the rumors, whispered on the air. Jason was the next to overhear a conversation as he huddled behind a corner, and the two of them relayed the information back to Myst and Landra.

"Wyatt is in one of the rooms on the eighth floor," Jason murmured, keeping his voice low. "He gave orders not to be disturbed." The group was huddled in an unused stairwell, trying to strategize.

"That must be where Chris is," Myst concurred.

"But what about the pendant?" Lila pointed out. "Do you think Wyatt has it, or is it still with Bianca?"

"It is Myst's pendant," David spoke up. "Can she sense it? Can she… find it somehow?"

Myst shrugged. "I can try," she said, although she seemed unsure as to whether or not it would work. But it was worth the try, because if Wyatt got his hands on it… oh, how could she have been so stupid? How could she have actually trusted Bianca?

"Okay, but what about Chris?" Prue muttered. "We still need to go after Chris."

"Uh… guys?" Jason cut into the conversation, eyes quickly scanning the area around them. "Where's Derek?"

Sure enough, the mortal was gone, having disappeared at some point during the discussion. The door to the stairs was open slightly, a tiny sliver of yellow light slicing across the floor, evidence that Derek had left them.

"Leave him," Myst said calmly, barely sparing a glance for the others. "He knew the rules, he knew the consequences."

"We can't just leave him," Lila protested, although she certainly wanted to. She was just as angry with the inconsiderate human as the rest of them, but for all his faults, Derek was still an innocent, and she refused to let him be butchered by demons. If they left him to die, it would make them no better than Wyatt, and she did not want that.

"You want to risk your life to save him?" Myst snapped back.

"We need to focus on Chris and the pendant," Prue said softly, staring at the light coming through the door. "We need to get them back."

"Look, why don't David and I try to find Derek, and the rest of you look for Chris?" Lila suggested, hoping it would be enough for the two Valkeries who seemed willing to just let Derek die.

"Fine," Landra snapped ungraciously.

But at the same time, Myst shook her head and replied, "I don't want to split up. We need to stay together." It was too dangerous to wander around this demon-infested complex unless they worked as a team, and even then she knew they would be taking chances. "Derek made his own decision. Leave him."

"Having a disagreement over Daddy dearest?" a mocking voice said, and all eyes swung to the top of the staircase where Will had appeared, his dark eyes flashing with danger, long claws extending from his hands. "Don't know why you bother… I certainly don't." Behind Will, several other demons had appeared, some human-looking, others grotesque with red skin and black fangs.

A dagger appeared suddenly in Landra's hand, and Myst produced a long, thing sword. Jason fumbled for the all-purpose vanquishing potions he had brought with him, and Prue conjured a burst of fire in her hand. Both David and Lila fell into fighting positions, ready to attack those on the stairs.

With a roar, the demons burst forward, charging down the stairs, energy balls flying thick in the air. In the pandemonium that broke out, Prue and Lisa both stumbled backwards, falling through the doorway and into the hall, instantly gathering the attention of several more demons.

Over the din of the battle, Landra cried out, "We need to get out of here!"

She reached one hand to her pendant, prepared to open the portal that would lead them to safety, when Will suddenly rushed forwards, slashing his claws through her stomach, killing her with one fell swoop.

Myst reacted instantly, throwing her sword at Will and forcing him back, away from Landra. The Myst rushed forward, snatching the pendant from Landra's throat, ensuring that no demon would have the chance to take it. Once that task was complete, she knelt at Landra's side, oblivious to the battle raging about her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she mourned the death of a sister.

Will, seeing Myst preoccupied, rose above her, lifting his claws into the air, prepared to strike.

"No!" A burst of wind left Prue's palm, knowing over several demons, forcing them all away from Myst and Landra. Will stumbled and collided into the others, crashing into the far wall. Prue walked forward, fire dancing on her fingertips, rage reflected in her eyes.

"No, don't hurt him!" Out of nowhere, Derek appeared, rushing forward and grabbing Prue by the arms, yanking her away from his son. Prue stumbled, the fire sizzling and then dying as she lost focus.

"Are you out of your mind?" the young witch snarled. "He killed Landra!"

"He's my son," Derek protested.

The half-Manticore, seeing his opportunity, threw himself forwards, towards Prue and his father, claws in front of him, ready to kill. Prue, barely reacting in time, managed to push herself and Derek out of the way, and Will rolled to the floor, propelling himself back to his feet in an instant. He whirled around, eyes narrowed, teeth bared, and faced Prue again.

Derek, stunned on the floor, could only watch as the two began to fight, vicious and furious. But Will's anger was cold and calm, while Prue's rage was burning white hot, and she began to make mistakes. The half-Manticore quickly took the upper-hand, gaining against the witch.

And then everything was a blur. Will brought his deadly claws whistling through the air towards Prue who, unprepared and unable to block the attack, felt her heart momentarily stop beating and her breath catch in her throat. But before the final blow could take her life, something shoved her out of the way, knocking her to the floor. She rolled over just in time to see the deadly claws slice through her father's chest, then Jason fell, eyes wide and unseeing, his final act that of saving his daughter's life.

"_DAD_!"

Prue's scream of pure terror lingered in the suddenly silent air as all eyes swung towards the fallen man.

Then Prue launched herself at Will, fire bursting from her hands, consuming the air all around her as she cried in fury, "Murderer! I'll _kill_ you, I'll kill you, you murderer! _Murderer_! Demon! Villain!"

Before Prue could vanquish Will, however, a telekinetic shove knocked her off her feet and she crumpled to the floor, surprised.

Wyatt was standing in the hallway.

He stared at Jason's body, his expression unreadable. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his eyes to Will's face, studying the half-Manticore with a scrutinizing stare. The moment stretched onwards, as though lingering into infinity, as Prue sobbed over her father's dead body and Derek looked in shock at what his son had done.

And then Wyatt Matthew Halliwell blinked.

And Will went up in flames, turning into nothing more than ash and dust.

* * *

Next Chapter: What Hurts the Most 

Due: Wed 3/5


	31. What Hurts the Most

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Sorry the chapter is a little late. It is on the longer side, so it took a while to write. Plus, it has the major turning points for some of the characters, so I spent a long time getting it exactly right. The lyrics are to the song _What Hurts the Most_ by_Rascal Flats_.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One: What Hurts the Most

_**I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house  
That don't bother me  
I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out**_

_**I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while  
Even though going on with you gone still upsets me  
There are days every now and again I pretend I'm ok  
But that's not what gets me**_

"_Prue, come on, get your coat," Jason called, leaning against the banister and watching as his ten-year-old daughter sat at the top of the stairs, a pout on her face._

"_I don't wanna go," Prue answered, shaking her head. "Not going, not going."_

"_You have to go," Jason replied, trying his best to stay calm. "It's school. You can't not go to school."_

"_Why bother?" Prue asked, folding her arms over her chest and shaking her head. The little girl had just lost her mother, and he couldn't blame her for her attitude. But he needed her to understand that life went on, no matter what. And having her sitting on the stairs, refusing to go to school, was not helping the situation._

"_Mommy always drove me to school," Prue announced. "Not you."_

"_Well, things are going to have to change a little," Jason answered slowly, taking a few tentative steps towards her. He didn't want her to bolt, the last he needed right now was to chase a hysterical child through the manor this early in the morning._

"_Why? Why can't she come back like Grandma and Great-Grams?" Prue demanded, remembering the way the spirits of other departed Halliwells would occasionally take corporal form. "Why does she have to be gone?"_

_Jason ran a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to explain death to a child who couldn't comprehend the idea? "Prue, sweetie…" He licked his dry lips. "You remember how Aunt Piper is gone now, and how she doesn't come to visit us?"_

_Prue nodded slowly._

"_It's like that, sweetie. We can't… we can't see Mommy for a while."_

_Victor appeared on the stairs behind Prue, glancing between his son-in-law and his granddaughter. The telltale signs of cancer were showing on his haggard face, signs that only Jason saw. The other children wouldn't pick up on it, but Victor would be leaving them soon as well._

_Prue clambered to her feet, glancing between her father and grandfather. "I don't wanna go to school! It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair!"_

_Jason moved swiftly, hurrying up the stairs and catching his daughter before she had the chance to rush away. She struggled in his grip, but he pulled her firmly into a hug and said, "I know, Prue. I don't want to go to work, and Grandpa doesn't want us to leave the manor now. We all want to stay here, together. But we can't… we need to move on."_

"_Move on?" Prue asked, raising her small face to meet his gaze._

"_Be brave and strong," Jason explained softly, "like Mommy would have wanted."_

"_I don't wanna be strong," Prue said, burying her face in her father's chest. "I want Mommy to come back."_

* * *

The silence in the hallway was almost oppressive. Prue had crawled to her father's side and was sobbing over his still body. Myst stood between Landra and Jason, looking at each with hardened eyes. David and Lila hung back, unsure who to comfort or what to do in the situation. Derek was looking at Wyatt, fury in his eyes.

"You_monster_!" Derek hissed, jumping to his feet and throwing himself at Wyatt in an effort to harm the Twice-Blessed. "How could you just kill him like that? How could you?"

Wyatt waved his hand, almost casually, and Derek went careening backwards through the air. He smashed into the wall, his head hitting the stone, his body sliding to the ground with a sickening thud.

Prue looked at Derek for a moment, then raised her eyes slowly to her older cousin. She rose to her feet, brown eyes narrowed dangerously. "Where is he, Wyatt? Where is Chris?"

Wyatt looked at her, then said in an almost gentle tone, "He's safe, Prue. Why don't you take Uncle Jason's body and leave? I'll let you go in peace."

Myst rolled her eyes and stepped forward, one hand wrapped tightly around an athame. "You have my pendant," she said coldly. "You'll just attack us."

Wyatt glanced at the athame in her hand, then tightened his own hand into a fist. Myst reached her hands to her throat, gasping for air. "Maybe I will," he agreed. "But I'll give you a day to mourn Jason first. I suggest," he flicked his wrist, sending Myst crashing into the wall, "that you take that offer."

"Where is he?" Prue demanded, rushing forward. Fire danced around her fingers as she summoned the elements, forcing them to bend to her will. The air grew hot and humid as she pointed one hand at Wyatt and a burst of flame hurtled towards him.

He raised his shield and the fire bounced harmlessly off the force field.

"Chris is staying here, Prue. He's _my_ brother."

Wyatt was, by far, the most powerful magical being the world had seen in a very long time. Prue, was more powerfully magical than any of her other cousins, even Chris. As the oldest girl born to a Charmed One, she had inherited the strength of the Warren line. But she was still no match for Wyatt.

Except that her rage blinded her to everything around her except the knowledge that her father was dead and Chris could very well follow suit. All her pain, all her grief, and all her frustration focused solely on Wyatt. The wind whipped around her, flooding from her palms in mini-tornados. Sparks of fire rushed around as well, caught up in the uncontrollable wind.

'You_bastard_!" Prue screamed. "How could you do this to us? How could you?"

Wyatt stumbled backwards, surprised by the ferocity of Prue's attack. He certainly had not expected that from her, even in the aftermath of her father's murder. He threw a low-voltage energy ball at Prue, hoping to stop her violent tirade without seriously injuring her. Prue hissed in pain as the energy burnt the skin of her arm.

With a cold gaze, Wyatt said, "Stop playing in the big leagues, Prue. You aren't strong enough to fight me."

"Want to bet?" she snarled. "I _hate_ you!"

"No, you don't," Wyatt countered, telekinetically shoving Prue so that she fell, sprawled on the floor next to her father. "I'm not the one who killed him, Prue. I didn't kill any of our family. I'm not the one you hate."

"This is all your fault," Prue hissed, her gaze fixed on Jason's wide eyes, staring unseeingly from his lifeless face. "We wouldn't have been here if it wasn't for you."

"You didn't have to come after Chris," Wyatt argued.

"He's my family," Prue replied.

"And he's mine as well," Wyatt countered.

"Powers of the witches rise, course unseen across the skies, remove our enemy from this place, so that we may find some safe place."

Wyatt spun to look at David and Lila just as they finished the spell and a set of white and blue lights engulfed him and he felt himself teleported away.

"What did you do?" Prue demanded, glaring at the two witches.

"We just saved all our lives," David answered firmly. "Come on, Wyatt will be back in a moment. All he has to do is orb. Let's get out of here before he comes back."

"But Chris… the pendant…"

"We don't have time!"

Myst touched the pendant she had taken from Landra, opening a portal into Valhalla. David and Lila hurried forward and helped Prue carry her father's body through the portal. Once the three of them had disappeared, Myst touched the pendant again and let the portal close.

"What about us?" Derek said, staring at the place where the swirling green energy had been before. "Aren't we going through."

"You," Myst answered harshly, "are not going anywhere with us… ever." And before Derek could register the action, she'd thrown an athame at him, watching in grim satisfaction as it struck him directly in the chest. He fell to the floor, eyes wide, and Myst continued, "You knew the consequences of breaking our rules. Now you have to suffer them."

And she turned and raced through the silent hallway towards the stairs.

Chris, she remembered, was on the eighth floor.

_**  
What hurts the most  
Was being so close  
And having so much to say  
And watching you walk away  
And never knowing  
What could have been  
And not seeing that loving you  
Is what I was tryin' to do  
**_

She left the manor soon after the fight had ended. No one noticed her shimmer away, which was probably for the best. She carefully enacted a barrier around herself, knowing that, so long as she held it strong, no one would be able to find her.

Her first thought was to go to the Underworld. She could hide there until she figured out just how to keep safe from Wyatt and Chris, both of whom would want to kill her after this was over.

But as she fingered the pendant lying in the palm of her hand, she knew she couldn't do that. She couldn't give the pendant to Wyatt, not if it would mean death for the entire Resistance. That would destroy Chris, and somehow, she just couldn't bring herself to cause him any more pain. But if she didn't return the pendant to the Valkeries, they would have no way of knowing that Wyatt didn't have it, and they would still be forced to abandon Valhalla.

She could use the pendant to gain access to Valhalla and return it that way.

But part of her, the prideful part, could not bring herself to return there, to face the people she had betrayed. Just like she couldn't bring herself to return to Chris and face his fury or his hurt.

What was she supposed to do now?

"What are you doing?"

Bianca spun around to find herself staring into Matt's hardened eyes. She had no idea how the other Phoenix had found her, but she also knew that he was a Phoenix, which meant he was good at tracking someone, even when they left no trace.

"Bianca, what are you doing?" Matt repeated. "Why haven't you taken the pendant to Wyatt?"

Her fingers closed tightly, protectively, over the necklace with the green stone. "I can't," she whispered, her voice apologetic, her eyes begging him to understand.

"Because of Chris?" Matt hissed. "I _knew_ it was a bad idea to leave you alone. I should have stayed to make sure this didn't happen." He shook his head furiously, angry at himself, Bianca, and Wyatt.

"Matt, please…"

"He's not a Phoenix, Bianca," Matt interrupted, refusing to listen to her pleas. "He's not your family. You have to do what is best for us, not for him. The rest of the world doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does!" Bianca argued, raising her voice to be heard over her recriminations. "It does matter, Matt. I didn't think it did either, not really, but I know better now."

"And let me guess, it was Chris who showed you the truth?" Matt sneered.

"It was all of them," Bianca answered.

Matt narrowed his eyes. "If you don't hand that pendant over to Wyatt, he will know you have betrayed him. You will be condemning your entire clan to death. Don't you understand that?"

"If I give him the pendant, I will be destroying the only thing left in the world that can stand up to him. Without the Resistance, I will be condemning the world to destruction." Bianca paused and drew a slow breath. "Don't you understand that?" she asked softly.

Matt's face took on a cold expression as he answered with barely controlled rage, "We are Phoenixes, Bianca. The only thing we are supposed to understand if 'for the good of the clan.' Nothing else."

"I… I can't." She looked away, shaking her head. "You can hide, all of you. Hide before it is too late, away from Wyatt. But… I can't give him the pendant."

Without even the slightest hesitation, Matt attached, launching himself at her with a powerful kick. "If you can't," he snarled as she automatically countered his blow, "then I will."

The pendant fell from her hand as she struggled to neutralize Matt's attack. She didn't want to hurt him, but he seemed to have no qualms about hurting her, and soon she found herself fighting viscously to counter his blows. For a moment, they both forgot everything they had learned about fighting fairly, and instead focused their energy on inflicting as much pain as possible, no matter the methods.

It was survival, plain and simple, and there was nothing fair or honorable in it.

After a harsh kick sent Bianca sprawling, Matt wiped the blood off of his face and reached down to life the pendant from the floor. He held it, the green stone dangling at the end of the leather string, his expression triumphant.

"I am doing this for you, Bianca," Matt said. "For the clan. For the good of our family. One day, you will understand."

Bianca looked up at him, her brown eyes desperate. "And I am doing this for the good of the world," she said. "I hope, one day, you forgive me." And without warning, she conjured an athame in one smooth move and sent it flying through the air. Matt, unprepared for the attack, was unable to dodge in time, and the athame struck him directly in the chest. He fell, sliding to the floor with a sickening thud.

Bianca walked over to him and pried the pendant from his hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered, falling to her knees by his side and staring into his lifeless eyes. The tears slid down her face as her body heaved with silent sobs. "I'm sorry, Matt… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

* * *

Myst yanked open the door and rushed into the hallway, knowing she had only a limited amount of time before Wyatt came back. He'd know exactly what she was trying to do, and he'd do his best to stop her, but she wasn't going to give up on Chris without a fight.

What she hadn't expected to see was Bianca, bruised and battered, face streaked with tears, standing before the door that lead to Chris' room. The Phoenix was not facing the door, but rather staring out towards Myst, as though she had known all along that the other woman would come.

Perhaps she had known it.

Myst looked down at the pendant still clutched tightly in her hand. Instinctively, she fell into a fighting stance, ready to defend herself and her sisters at all costs.

But Bianca spoke, and when she did, her voice was clipped and emotionless. "You love Chris."

Myst was startled by the comment, but she nodded, ever so slowly. "I was a fool to trust you," she hissed venomously. "I knew you were evil, but I let myself be swayed by his arguments…" She trailed off, wondering how Bianca had known about her feelings for Chris.

"You're not as good at hiding them as you might think," Bianca remarked, replying to Myst's silent thought. The blonde started, but said nothing. Bianca hesitated, then threw the pendant at Myst's feet. "Take it, take Chris, and get out of here."

"Why?" Myst asked warily as she knelt, reaching for the pendant. Only once the green stone was safely back in her hands did she let the fear within her subside.

"Don't ask questions," Bianca snarled. "Just take it and go." She glanced behind her at the door. "The room is magically sealed to prevent any form of teleportation, but it shouldn't be able to ward against the pendant's powers. Chris' own powers can be returned to him with a simple spell, but the room will prevent that as well, so it needs to be after he is gone. Back on Valhalla… where you will all be safe."

"Why are you telling me this?" Myst demanded. "What do you get out of it?"

"In return," Bianca said softly, but her voice was underlined with an uncompromising steel, "you'll do me a favor, and never tell anyone that I did any of this for them. Never tell Chris," she added, her voice wavering. It would be easier for him if he thought her just an enemy. Eventually, he would move on, find someone else to love, someone else to give him purpose. But if he knew that she was unwillingly trapped in this horrible life, he would want to save her, want to help her. That was the type of person he was, too generous for his own good, and she wasn't willing to let him risk himself for her. She'd made her own fate, and she'd deal with it, whatever it may be.

Myst stared at her. "You love him, too."

"Is that why you caused him so much pain?" a new voice asked, and Wyatt appeared in the hallway in a sparkle of blue and black orbs. His eyes, darkened with fury, were staring straight at Bianca. "Do you know how much it hurt him to know you didn't love him back?"

Bianca swallowed nervously. To save Chris, and the Resistance, she would need to act quickly, and she wasn't entirely convinced that, even with the element of surprise, she would be able to pull this off. Still, Wyatt was arrogant enough to think that a mere assassin witch couldn't be much of a threat, and he wouldn't see the danger coming until the very last moment.

Then it would simply be a battle of strength.

So she moved with her trademark lightening-fast agility, and before the Twice Blessed had truly registered what was happening, she'd plunged her fist directly into her chest, and began draining his powers.

"Myst… hurry! This won't hold him still… much longer," she gasped out, her entire body shaking with the effort of fighting against Wyatt's power.

Myst didn't need telling twice. She rushed through the door ahead of her, slamming it shut. Wyatt roared in fury and tried to move, but Bianca held on, knowing that every second was precious, and she just needed to keep him preoccupied a moment longer.

With a great rush of strength, Wyatt managed to break free of her hold and telekinetically shove her backwards. She smashed into the far wall, barely able to stay conscious as the pain rushed to her head. Wyatt spun away from her, pushing himself to the door of the room where Chris had been held captive. But as he threw the door open, he saw the green portal closing, taking both Chris and the pendant out of his reach.

When he turned to look back at the hallway behind him, Bianca had already had the presence of mind to shimmer away. He strode out into the hallway, looking around, shaking with uncontrollable fury.

Then he felt something strike him in his back, a wash of golden light passing over his body and illuminating his skin for a split-second. The warlock who had thrown the strange energy was standing in the hallway, hands crossed idly over his chest, a smirk on his face.

Wyatt conjured an energy ball. "What did you do to me?" he snarled. "And how stupid are you?"

But the warlock just laughed. "You can vanquish me now, Lord Wyatt, but I'll still have the last laugh."

"Who are you?" Wyatt managed to gasp through clenched teeth as a wave of dizziness made him stagger and lean onto the wall for support. Something was flowing through his veins, wrapping around his heart, twisting tightly into every cell and every fiber of his being.

"My name," the warlock answered serenely, "is Latere."

It was the last thing he said before a blast of energy tore from Wyatt's hand and vanquished him, destroying the hallway in the process. Amid the shower of shattered glass and fragments of stone following all around him, Wyatt, too, collapsed to his knees as the darkness took over.

* * *

"Powers of the witches rise, return to me across the skies, bring my powers, give me back, all that was taken in the attack."

As Chris finished saying the impromptu spell, a flurry of white lights filled the sky, then soared straight into his chest. He smiled, feeling the return of his powers, and knowing that he wouldn't be helpless any longer.

Behind him, Myst closed the portal that had brought them both to safety. She turned to look at Chris, and watched as his eyes became shadowed and haunted. She knew he was thinking of Bianca, and she also knew that the Phoenix had been right about one thing; if Chris knew the truth, he'd want to save Bianca.

It was too dangerous. They'd already lost too many, they couldn't lose him as well.

"Bianca?" Chris asked, glancing at Myst.

Myst swallowed. "I saw her, briefly… we fought, and I was able to get my pendant back from her… I don't know where she is now, Chris. I… I'm sorry."

Chris didn't respond right away. The full horror of her betrayal was still too raw, to unbearable, for him to completely comprehend. He looked away, shaking his head, wishing he could deny the truth.

"Chris…" Myst hesitated, not wanting to add to his obvious pain. "There's something else. It… it's about your uncle."

Chris raised green eyes to look at her in confusion. "What about Uncle Jason? Is he okay?"

And all Myst could do was slowly, sadly, shake her head and watched the realization settle over Chris' already grief-filled features.

_**  
It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you everywhere I go  
But I'm doin' It  
It's hard to force that smile when I see our old friends and I'm alone  
Still harder  
Getting up, getting dressed, livin' with this regret  
But I know if I could do it over  
I would trade, give away, all the words that I saved in my heart  
That I left unspoken  
**_

Myst had expected Leo to be outraged when she admitted what had happened to Derek. She'd killed someone that Leo had, all along, been saying was an innocent and should be protected. But Leo said nothing at her revelation, and she and Freya exchanged worried looks.

"You have the pendant?" Freya said finally. "Yours and Landra's?" She stumbled over their dead sister's name, a brief flash of anger on her face. She almost wished she could have been the one to kill Will, or even just Derek, for all the pain they had caused.

"Yes… we've averted the crisis. Wyatt can't reach us."

Freya nodded. "Very well," she said, her voice cold and hard. She looked away.

"I should go," Leo said finally. "I need to check on Prue." He walked from the cave, leaving the two Valkeries standing in silence.

"We never should have trusted him," Freya snarled, thinking of Derek. How could he have done this to him? His stupidity had gotten her sisters killed, and now Jason had died as well.

"Or her," Myst muttered, although at this point she had no idea what to make of Bianca. She still hadn't revealed any of the Phoenix's final actions to anyone, and she had no intention of doing so. But she couldn't help think about them, and wonder…

"What now?" Freya murmured aloud.

* * *

When Leo found Prue, she had already destroyed everything around her. Her entire body was wrapped in fire, flames that leapt from her fingers and sparked in her eyes. It was a display of power he had never seen before, but he knew that all the Halliwells' powers were tied to their emotions, and this was Prue's way of grieving.

Her way of grieving was incredibly destructive.

The scorched brown grass under her feet and the charred trees all around her were testament to the rage she felt deep inside. A rage that built slowly, growing with every single tear she cried.

"_Prue, come on," Jason said wearily as his thirteen-year-old daughter refused to listen to him. She was standing in the center of the of the room, her arms folded over her chest. "Now, Prue."_

"_No," Prue said, shaking her head. "You can't make me."_

"_Yes, actually, I can," Jason pointed out. "I'm your father."_

"_I'm not going," Prue said furiously. "It's a stupid birthday party and Adam is too young to even remember most of it! I won't go, not at all! I want to hang out with my friends, not my stupid baby cousin."_

"_Adam is your family," Jason said through clenched teeth. "He came to your parties."_

"_I don't care!"_

_Jason took a deep breath and said in a firm tone, "Prue, you are going to this party and you are going to pretend to have a good time, or I will ground you until you are eighteen. Do you understand?"_

"_I_hate_ you!"_

Adam and Ria both had tried to get through the dancing fire to comfort their cousin, but she was past comfort now. She was oblivious to the presence of everyone else as she fell to her knees, sobs choking in her throat.

"Dad…" she whispered, the fire crackling as sparks landed on the grass.

Leo, knowing that as a white-lighter the fire wouldn't actually cause any lasting damage, fought his way through the intense heat until he was standing next to his niece. He stared down at his arms, watching as the fire burnt his skin, and then the golden glow of self-healing made it new again. It happened, over and over…

"Prue?"

Prue looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, not comprehending what he was doing there. "Uncle Leo?" she asked, her voice sounding small. "You have to heal him, you have to… please, he's going to die…"

Leo felt his heart clench painfully. "Prue, he… your father's already dead," he whispered, reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No!" she cried, throwing his hand away. "No, he's not. He's not! You just need to heal him. Why aren't you healing him?"

The white-lighter reached for her again, this time refusing to let her push away. He caught her by both shoulders, holding her tightly even as she struck her fist against his chest, over and over.

"Heal him! Uncle Leo, heal him!" she screamed.

He hugged her, and her voice muffled against his chest.

"_Wait, Prue, don't forget your lunch," Jason called as he rushed out after his eleven-year-old daughter, holding the brown paper bag in his hand._

_She turned and looked up at him with large brown eyes so like her mother's… "Thanks, Daddy," she said, taking the bag. "Almost forgotted it." She grinned widely, excited to be on her way to school. She was going to learn things, big important things, and she'd impress her Daddy with all the things she knew._

_Jason ruffled her hair. "Have a wonderful day at school," he said, giving her a quick hug._

"_Will you be here when I get back?" Prue asked._

_Jason was often at work when Prue returned from school, and usually she went over to the Manor. He'd pick her up after work, and they'd return to the penthouse._

_But she was asking him, and he couldn't refuse. "If you want," Jason answered._

_Prue nodded excitedly. "Then I can tell you all about the day and about Mrs. White and what we learned and it will be exciting!"_

"_I'll be here," Jason promised._

"_Love you, Daddy."_

"_Love you, too, Prue."_

"Why?" Prue sobbed. "Why? He should have just let me die, he shouldn't have… shouldn't have come… tried to save me… why?" The fire around her was starting to abate. Adam rushed forward and placed a reassuring hand on Prue's back, hoping to offer his own comfort to his grieving cousin. She was shaking in Leo's arms, still so consumed by pain.

In the midst of all this, Leo vaguely registered that Ria had disappeared, and Chris had just left Valhalla as well.

* * *

She had played him.

Chris stormed angrily through San Francisco, his fury and pain blinding him to everything else around him.

She had played him.

She showed up at the Resistance with her pretty face and some story about her having to work for Wyatt, and how she wanted out of that life, and he fell for it. He'd taken her in, introduced her to everyone, showed her around the island. He'd told her his thoughts and feelings, he told her his secrets. He gave her his heart, falling for her, and falling hard.

And she had played him.

"Chris!"

Chris barely even stopped to listen to the person shouting at him. He knew it was Ria, his cousin had followed him since he had left Valhalla. He could sense her, but he didn't slow down. He didn't want to talk to her, didn't want to talk to anyone.

How could he have been so stupid?

On top of Bianca's betrayal was the knowledge that, in trying to save him, Jason had gotten himself killed. He wondered vaguely how Prue was doing, but he couldn't bring himself to face her, knowing that he was the reason Jason had been in Wyatt's stronghold, he was the reason the mortal was dead now.

Uncle Jason… Now it was just the cousins, Wyatt, and Leo… And Wyatt could barely be considered a Halliwell anymore.

"Chris, stop!" Ria called, finally catching up with him. "Chris, please! Listen to me." She knew how much he was grieving, how he felt pain at Bianca's betrayal and guilt at Jason's death. She could see those emotions in his eyes, dark and stormy, an almost black-green.

Chris shook his head angrily. "Why? So you can tell me what an idiot I was for trusting her? You said all along that you thought there was something wrong with her, and I ignored it. I ignored you and she… she…" He bit his lip to keep from screaming in frustration.

How could he have done this to all of them?

He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to rip every hair out of her head. He wanted to hurt her like she had hurt him, wanted to tear her heart out and trample all over it.

Because, damn it, he had loved her.

And she used him.

"Chris, this wasn't your fault. There is no one here to blame but Bianca," Ria countered, spitting out the Phoenix's name with hatred. She, too, wondered why she hadn't protested more when the Phoenix had joined the Resistance. Why hadn't she known that any assassin could only mean trouble? Why had she ignored her instincts?

It wasn't just Chris' fault, they were all to blame.

But Bianca… it was her fault, her more than anyone else.

And one day, Ria swore she would make the Phoenix pay for the damage she'd wrought on the Halliwell family.

Chris gave a hollow laugh. "I told her what she wanted to know and let her run back to Wyatt. He could have killed us all, and it is completely my fault." And he orbed away, taking care to block his signal so that his cousin couldn't follow him.

Ria stared angrily at the spot her cousin had stood. How could he be so stupid? Didn't he know that every moment he spent out here was putting him in danger? Wyatt could track him down an find him, and everything would have been in vain.

"Chris," she called, knowing the white-lighter side of him would allow him to hear her words, even if he was blocking his signal. "Chris, listen to me. Wyatt or his demons will find you out here. Uncle Jason is dead, Landra is dead! You can't change that. But if you get caught here, everything we went through, their deaths… it will be in vain. Please… come back."

In her head, he heard his echoing voice replying. She, too, was part white-lighter, and she, too, could hear his words as he called out to her across the vast expanse of the city.

"_Not yet, Ria. I have something I have to do. But I'll come back. And I won't get caught."_

_**What hurts the most  
Is being so close  
And having so much to say  
And watching you walk away  
And never knowing  
What could have been  
And not seeing that loving you  
Is what I was trying to do  
**_

By the time Chris finally found Bianca, she had already known he was looking for her. Had she wanted to stay hidden, he would have never found her… ever. But she had to end this, she had to convince him that she wasn't worth hunting for. If he continued to put himself in danger, everything would be lost.

So she waited for him to show up in his usual shower of orbs.

And she held an athame in her hand.

When he appeared, when his eyes slid down to the knife in shock and disbelief, he asked numbly, "So this is all I was. A… target?"

"Yes," Bianca said coldly, but her hand shook as she clenched the athame and her breath came in uneven gasps.

"And when you kissed me? When you said you loved me? Was that all pretend as well?" Chris spat, stepping towards her, anger making him reckless.

"You were an assignment, Chris. Find you, use you. Nothing more," Bianca retorted.

"So that's it?" Chris asked in disbelief, still unwilling to let go of the woman he thought he loved.

Bianca looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "Yes, Chris. That's it." The Phoenix paused, then repeated in a softer voice, "That's it."

Chris took a step back, hurt beyond words at Bianca's cold demeanor. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat and lashed out at her, using his telekinesis to throw her off her feet. Caught unawares, the Phoenix flew through the air, but managed to land easily in a crouch a few feet behind where she had been standing before. Chris glared at her, then orbed away, wanting to put as much distance in between himself and the woman he thought he had known.

If he had waited a minute longer, he would have seen the single tear that made its solitary way down Bianca's cheek.

_**  
Not seeing that loving you  
That's what I was trying to do**_


	32. Choices

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Anyone who has read _The Lost Future_ might remember Latere from that story. He's the same warlock with the same powers, and he's going to affect everything in pretty much the same way as in my other story.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two: Choices

Wyatt stared at his reflection in the mirror, studying his pale features. He was tired and his vision was still a little blurry. But more than that, he was furious. He'd lost the pendant and Chris, all because of Bianca's betrayal. He should have known not to trust her, but then… how could he have known she would fall for his brother?

And the warlock that had attacked. Latere? Who was he and what had he done?

* * *

The next few days passed in a hazy blur. Prue spoke to almost no one, and wandered around Valhalla with perpetually bloodshot eyes. Freya, morning the death of yet another sister, became more and more irritable, pulling away from the other members of the Resistance, Leo in particular. Ria and Adam both kept a wary gaze on Prue, as though expecting their cousin to explode, and on Leo, who seemed to be falling apart at the seems. And Chris went out hunting almost every night.

The young witch-lighter's continued absence from Valhalla was beginning to frighten his father, and Leo spent as much time as possible trying to track down his son and convince him that what he was doing would only serve to get him killed. But Chris barely listened to his father, instead focusing all his energy on killing demons.

Every night, he orbed away from Valhalla, and every night, he wandered through the caves in the Underworld, hunting his prey. He would return to the island with cuts and burns that marred his increasingly pale skin.

But he still refused to listen to Leo's pleas.

"Chris, I know you are upset about Bianca, but this isn't the right path," Leo said yet again as he extended his hands to heal his younger son. The familiar golden glow seeped into Chris' arms, and the burn began to slowly fade away.

Chris lifted hardened eyes to his father. "This has nothing to do with Bianca. I don't care about her. I'm over it. But I need to stop Wyatt from destroying everything. I'm a witch, Dad. Fighting demons is what I do."

"Not like this," Leo replied with a sad sigh. "You are _hunting_, and that is never a good idea."

"What do you know about it?" Chris spat, shaking his head and pulling away from his father. "You're content to sit in Valhalla while the rest of the world suffers. You don't care about anything."

"That is not true!" Leo protested, surprised at the venom in Chris' words. "How can you think that?"

"You protected Derek, didn't you? He got Uncle Jason and Landra killed. He got Leta killed. He got Kyra killed. And still… you didn't want to just face the reality that his son was evil!" Chris hissed. "So you let him stay here. Just like you stay here whenever we go out to rescue witches. Just like you always stayed away when any of us were fighting, even before Mom died."

Leo's face went completely white and his eyes widened at the accusation. When he spoke, his words were calm, but there was undeniable hurt in his voice. "I'm a white-lighter, Chris. I can't fight, I don't have the power. You know that."

"Yeah, whatever," Chris snarled, jumping to his feet. "That's just an excuse, and a lame one at that. You don't care, do you? You don't care about anyone or anything!" And without another word, he stormed away.

After a moment, a soft voice broke through the silence and said, "He doesn't hate you, Leo, and he doesn't even believed half the things he said."

Leo glanced over his shoulder at Myst. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough," she answered. She walked forward and rested a hand on Leo's shoulder. "He just found out that the woman he loved betrayed him and his uncle died while on a mission to save him from his brother. He's not mad at you, he's mad at himself. You just happen to be an easier target."

"I'm worried about him Myst," Leo admitted with a heavy sigh. "I just wish I could get through to him, I wish he would listen to me." He glanced in the direction Chris had gone. "I know our relationship was never perfect… or even good… but…" He trailed off and shook his head. "I just wish he'd listen to me," he murmured again.

"You're still his father," Myst pointed out, "even if he doesn't like you right now."

"Yeah," Leo agreed half-heartedly.

Myst, taking pity on the despondent white-lighter, offered, "I could talk to him… if you want?"

"Would you?" Leo asked hopefully. "He might listen to you."

Myst wasn't so sure about that, but she agreed anyway. What Chris really needed right now was someone to take his anger out on, and the demons were serving that purpose. But Leo was right, it could get him killed, and Myst didn't think the Halliwells would survive losing another person.

* * *

The city of San Francisco had been beautiful once. Chris remembered that, remembered way back to a time when the waterfront had been lined with beaches and trees and the parks had been lush and green. He remembered a time when people had felt safe waking out of doors, playing in the sunlight, spending the nights with their friends, taking on the town.

Things were different now. Even the mortals, even those who were not even part of this fight between Wyatt and the rest of the magical community… even they stuck to the shadows, moving about only as needed. Once thriving businesses failed simply because people were too terrified to step outside their houses. It was as though everyone believed one simple rule; out of sight, out of mind. If they stayed hidden, perhaps they would be safe.

Chris knew it didn't work like that.

He stood in the middle of the street, glancing around at the emptiness. The demon he had been tracking was gone now, probably shimmered back to the Underworld. He sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair.

"Did you lose something, kid?"

He turned sharply, surprised by the voice of the newcomer. "Daryl? What are you doing out here?"

Daryl raised an eyebrow at him slightly, his lined and weathered face taking on a teasing grin. "You Halliwells still don't pay attention to the rest of us, do you?" he said, smiling. "I've been living out here for a few weeks already."

Chris opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. "I didn't… I didn't know."

Daryl shrugged. "It's okay, Chris. I didn't really see a reason to advertise it, and I know how busy you all have been with other problems." He beckoned for Chris to follow him, and the two of them walked hurriedly through the street. "Your Dad help set me up with a place to stay," Daryl explained, "and got me some crystals to help keep evil out. He said he's always sensing for me, so he should know right away if I'm in trouble."

Chris stopped, gazing up at Daryl in astonishment. "Dad did all of that?"

"Yeah," Daryl replied, looking surprised by the question. He ruffled Chris' hair and then continued walking.

Chris scrambled to keep up, his mind still reeling from the realization. He felt a sudden rise of anger deep within, a burning fury. How had his father found time to do all this when he could barely find time to spend with his own family? His father was always rushing off to help the rest of the world, but when Chris needed him… He didn't help vanquish demons with his family, and lately he had even tried to talk Chris out of doing that. He'd let the half-Manticore kill so many people… Uncle Jason…

Then again, the little voice deep within his mind pointed out, when was the last time he had actually gone to his father for help? Hadn't he written off the white-lighter a long time ago, assuming Leo couldn't be good for anything?

Daryl looked over his shoulder once. "You really shouldn't be out here," he said softly, his tone almost reprimanding. "You're a big target right now, you know that?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "I'm always a target." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daryl shrug slightly and nod. He continued, "And anyway, someone has to come out and fight. We can't just hide in Valhalla and let the rest of the world suffer."

Daryl stopped. Turning to face Chris completely, he said, "I heard about Jason. I'm so sorry, Chris."

Chris felt a burning sensation behind his eyes and blinked it away. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he answered, "Thank you. It is… hard. Prue is… a complete wreck."

"I would imagine," Daryl agreed. "I know… what it feels like… to lose someone you love that much." He had a far away expression in his eyes, obviously thinking of Shelia and his sons.

"Me, too," Chris agreed in a low voice.

They resumed walking in silence. Once or twice, Daryl glanced over his shoulder again, checking their surroundings. As far as Chris could tell, they weren't being followed, but the other man appeared on edge. He wondered if Daryl knew something that he wasn't saying, or if, perhaps, the safety Leo had set up around his house had not been good enough lately.

"What made you decide to leave Valhalla?" Chris questioned finally.

"It wasn't my world, Chris. This…" He trailed off and gestured with his hands to the surrounding street, "This is my world. This is where I belong. Even if it is dangerous."

"You're a target for the demons. For my brother's demons."

Daryl glanced over his shoulder again. "Yeah… I know."

"How did you find me?" Chris pressed. "I doubt you were just in the area by chance." It had been bothering him since the beginning of the conversation. Why had Daryl shown up right them? It was too much of a coincidence to be believable, but Chris' sensing abilities were telling him that this was truly Daryl, and not some demonic imposter.

Daryl slanted a look at him. "You're not going to like the answer."

Chris stopped once again. "My Dad sent you," he said, angry. "He's spying on me, and he sent you to come and get me and bring me back to your house." Daryl reached out to take his hand, but he pulled away, shaking his head. "Why can't he just trust me? I know what I'm doing!"

Daryl exhaled sharply. "Your father was concerned when you left Valhalla. He told me where you were, and I said I would come find you. But I am not taking you back just to deliver you to your father." His voice took on a sharp edge. "I'm not his lackey, Chris. I'm not following orders." Chris flinched at the words, and Daryl continued in a softer tone, "I just… you're family. I haven't seen you in a while. I just wanted to make sure you are okay."

Chris gave a short laugh. "The girl I thought I was in love with betrayed me, I was kidnapped by my brother, and the half-demon my father keeps trying to save killed my uncle. I'm _not_ okay."

"Would you like some tea?" Daryl offered, not really knowing what else to say to that admission. He pointed to the house across the street. "That's where I live."

Chris looked torn. "I have a demon to hunt."

"One cup," Daryl pressed. "Your demon will still be there when you're done."

Chris was about to refuse and orb away when some strange sixth sense stopped him. He glanced up at the house, his eyes fixing on the windows. He remembered a story he had heard once, a story of his Aunt Paige. When she had first come into her powers, she'd found she could sense evil lurking inside a certain house. Chris felt that strange sensation now, and something was telling him to go inside with Daryl.

"Sure," he agreed slowly. "One cup."

They walked up the steps, and Daryl took out his key and opened the door. He was about to walk through, but Chris put his hand on the other man's arm and shook his head silently.

"Let me go first," Chris warned.

Daryl, knowing better than to protest, stepped aside and allowed Chris to enter before him. He followed the young witch-lighter into the small living room, his eyes scanning for any signs of disturbance.

And then they heard the sound of a gun, the sharp crack of flying bullets.

"No!" Chris cried, waving his hand wildly at Daryl and telekinetically shoving him to the ground. The bullets passed over his head and shattered the window behind them, sending fragments of glass everywhere. Bright sunlight rushed through the room, illuminating every single corner.

Daryl looked up from the floor in time to see a man step out of the hallway. He was holding a gun in one hand, and his lips were quirked into a cruel smile.

Chris waved his hand at the newcomer, but the telekinesis did nothing. Instead, a gold medallion hanging around the man's neck glowed with a faint light. Obviously, the medallion was protecting him against a magical attack.

"Who are you?" Chris demanded.

"Mathew Carlson," the man said simply. "And you must be Christopher Halliwell." He gaze Chris a scrutinizing look, searching for something in his face. "You don't look like much. Wonder why the demons are so afraid of you…?"

Chris took a threatening step forward. "Want to find out?"

Carlson lifted the gun again, pointing it directly at Chris' heart. "You sure you want to threaten me right now?" Chris, knowing better than to push his luck, stayed still and waited for Carlson to make the first move. The older man smirked, pleased by the response, and lowered his gun ever so slightly. "I see now why I was the one assigned to this job."

"And why's that?" Chris asked harshly.

"Well, with the crystals in place, none of your brother's demons would have been able to get in, would they?" He gave a faint smile. "So I guess it is up to me to remove the target." Moving swiftly, he swung around and pointed the gun at Daryl. There was a sharp crack as the bullet shot from the gun, rushing towards the intended victim.

"No!" Chris cried again, flinging out his hand and telekinetically shoving the bullet away from Daryl. There was a silence in the room as Carlson turned again to Chris and the witch-lighter glared defiantly at their attacker.

"Why do you want me dead?" Daryl asked finally, wondering how difficult it would be to reach the gun he kept hidden in the vase by the door. He knew that, with Chris there, he had an advantage over the other man. But Carlson had a gun, and he didn't want to risk either of them getting shot. Not if he could help it.

"I don't," Carlson answered casually. "Lord Wyatt does." He paused, giving a half-hearted shrug. "I never really thought to ask why."

Chris reached out suddenly and caught Daryl's hand, orbing them both out of the house. As they dissolved into blue and white dots, he heard the hiss and snap of more bullets releasing from the barrel of the gun, heard the shatter of glass and wood. But they were already gone, and the bullets passed harmlessly through the place where they stood only moments before.

* * *

"Daryl is arguing with your father," Myst said softly as she approached Chris.

He was perched on a flat rock, surveying the area around him. To his right, Prue sat near the edge of a waterfall, staring at her reflection in the rippling water of the pond. In front of him, another one of the Valkeries was instructing Adam on the use of a dagger, on the best ways to dodge and counter an attack. And to the distant left, he could see the silhouettes of his father and Daryl, arms waving madly in a heated discussion.

"So I see," he said.

"Daryl wants to return to the Outside," Myst explained. "And Leo thinks it is too dangerous."

Chris frowned. "It is too dangerous," he protested angrily. "Wyatt wants him dead. He's sent an assassin after him."

Myst hesitated, then ventured slowly, "You go out a lot, Chris. It is dangerous for you as well."

"I can protect myself," Chris said dismissively.

"Not from everything," Myst countered. "You keep pretending that you are immortal. We both know that isn't true."

Chris gave her a dark look. "My Dad sent you to talk to me?" he surmised, rolling his eyes. "God, he never gives up, does he?"

"He's your father," Myst replied pointedly. "He's supposed to look after you. That's his job."

Chris let out a sharp exhale of breath. "He never bothered to do it before. Why start now?"

"Is that really true?"

Chris gave Myst a long look. It was true that his father had never really been there for him much in the past. He was always too busy saving the world. He stopped by for many things, but he missed family dinners and school plays just as often. And yet… his father had always come for the major things. Always come when someone needed to be healed, always come when there was an emergency. He might have spent so much time training Wyatt or discussing Charmed duties with Piper and the Aunts, but… but he still cared about Chris. And Chris had always known that, somewhere deep inside.

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down. "I have to stop Wyatt. I have to save him from himself. He's becoming a monster."

"And putting yourself in constant danger is your plan to do that?" Myst asked cautiously. "Getting yourself killed won't help him."

He rolled his eyes. "Myst… It isn't that simple. It isn't like I can pick and choose how I go about doing this. The only way to stop him is to get rid of as many demons as possible. And that's what I plan on doing."

"And to hell with all the people who worry constantly when you're gone?" Myst retorted. "Chris, Prue is falling apart. Her powers have swung so out of control that she's practically burned down this island several times. Ria and Adam are barely holding it together, and Leo has his hands full with the three of them. Do you think it is easy for any of them when you disappear?"

He couldn't meet her gaze. Instead, he picked up a few blades of grass and rubbed them in between his fingers. "I don't want to hurt my family," he said finally. "But this is my choice. My responsibility. I can't… I can't turn my back on it."

Myst studied his features, set and resolved. The young witch-lighter clearly had no intention of backing down from his decision, and she knew nothing she said would change that.

"Then let someone come with you," she said finally, seeing no other option. "You don't have to do this alone." She reached out, resting her hand on his arm. "We can help."

He looked up at her, at first a denial ready to fall carelessly from his lips. But he paused as he saw the look in her eyes, the same calm determination he knew was reflected in his own jade orbs. "Fine," he said eventually. "I guess you can help me."

* * *

Wyatt glanced at the sorcerer he had summoned. The man was old and wizened, but the power that radiated from him was strong and undeniable. He was wearing a dark cloak that covered his thin shoulders and wiry frame, and the hood pulled over his head cast a shadow across his features.

"Do you know of the warlock Latere?" Wyatt asked. "He attacked me earlier." He'd looked in the Book of Shadows, but as usual, it hadn't been completely helpful. In fact, the entry had only said that he was a powerful warlock who had not been active for centuries.

Well, he wouldn't be active ever again…

The sorcerer nodded thoughtfully. "I've heard of him," he said, "although we've never crossed paths. He's dangerous, Lord Wyatt."

"He's dead," Wyatt replied flatly.

"That doesn't make him any less dangerous," the sorcerer said, and his words caused Wyatt to look up sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"Did he attack you, Lord Wyatt? Did he use his powers against you?"

Wyatt shrugged carelessly. "He hit me with something. A gold energy ball, or something like that. What does it matter? I'm fine and he's gone." Well, he wasn't actually _fine_. He was furious at everything that had happened, furious in such a way that the blood was continually rushing through his veins and pounding in his ears.

The sorcerer grimaced. "That is what I was afraid of."

"What does it do?"

"It muddles your mind," the sorcerer answered. "It plays with your emotions. It twists things around inside of you until you can't tell right from wrong and truth from lies."

Wyatt blinked, confused. "Elaborate," he ordered tersely.

"Latere has the ability to see into someone, see who they could have become in another lifetime." The sorcerer frowned, studying Wyatt carefully. "He can use his powers to sway you in one direction or another. Make you more ruthless or more gentle, more ambitious or more accepting." He paused, trying his best to explain in a way that a mere witch like Wyatt Halliwell would be able to understand. "He can't change who you are… just how you act."

"What did he do to me?" Wyatt asked worriedly.

The sorcerer shrugged. He never particularly liked working with witches or demons. They were always so caught up in their own imminent problems, too narrow-minded to see the bigger picture, to see the way things interacted on a cosmic scale.

"What did he do to me!" Wyatt said, his voice rising in volume when the sorcerer did not answer his question. "Tell me what he did!"

The sorcerer answered coolly, "What do you feel? How do you feel?"

Wyatt paused, thinking. "Angry," he said at last, because it was the only word that would come to mind. It didn't do justice to his complicated and complex emotions, to the rage that burned inside him at the thought of Latere's attack and Bianca's betrayal. Or the pain, quickly pushed aside and replaced with disgust, when he thought of his brother's hateful gaze. Everything swirled within him, a barely controllable tornado of fury, pain, frustration… and anger.

The sorcerer shrugged again. "You are angry," he said. "Angrier than you were before Latere attacked?"

Wyatt thought about this, but in all truthfulness, he could not remembered. It was too much of a jumbled mess in his mind, too much confusion.

The sorcerer nodded. Wyatt Halliwell was quite possibly the most important person in the world… right now. But he was a witch, and like all other humans, he _would_ die at some point. And when he did, the world would revert to the way it was before, Good and Evil fighting each other. Much would be lost before that happened, and the world would be a much darker place because of it. But Wyatt would fade away eventually.

What Latere had done was simply to increase Wyatt's anger, to make him a more formidable, more powerful, and more reckless foe. Without the caution that often kept him safe, he would be easier to kill. But with the added boost to his powers derived from his furious emotions, he would also be harder to stop.

So in the here and now, they all had to worry. But in the greater scheme of things, it was just a matter of time until the regime fell apart.

With that thought in mind, the sorcerer shimmered away. Let the world fight its own battles. He had other planes, dimensions, and times to worry about.

* * *

"I don't like this," Ria said as she sat on the ground next to her brother. "What is Myst playing at?"

"What do you mean?" Adam asked, yawning carelessly. "She's just helping Chris, making sure he doesn't get himself killed." He didn't see anything wrong with the two of them fighting demons together. Myst was a fearsome warrior, and it would help Chris to have someone like that watching his back.

"Yeah, but she's just encouraging him," Ria argued. "She shouldn't be helping. Besides…" She trailed off and shook her head, deciding abruptly not to mention her other thoughts.

Adam gave her a curious look, but didn't press the issue.

Ria sighed. It was obvious to her that Myst liked Chris. She knew, in a sort of detached way, that Chris was good-looking. And he was brave and powerful and courageous. She supposed he was a good catch, especially for another magical being, and so it made sense that Myst would fall for him.

But Chris had also just been betrayed by the woman he thought he loved. Bianca's departure may have given Myst room to get close to Chris, but that didn't mean it was a good idea. The witch-lighter was already confused enough as it was. Any move Myst made would just complicate matters even more, and Ria wasn't entirely sure Chris could handle another emotional rollercoaster ride.

"How's Prue?" Adam asked, cutting across Ria's thoughts.

Ria shrugged. "Okay, I guess. As well as can be expected, given the circumstances." She tried to speak to Prue about everything, to offer some empathy, but the older witch wasn't at the point where she could accept such sentiments. Loosing any family was hard, but Ria knew from personal experience that loosing a parent, the last parent still alive, was the hardest.

"So… what now?" Adam questioned.

"I only wish I knew," Ria murmured.

* * *

Zankou moved backwards instinctively as a furious Wyatt orbed directly in front of him. The Twice Blessed was shaking with rage, his eyes narrowed into thin slits of blue ice. He was radiating power… very dark, very dangerous power.

"Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out?" Wyatt asked in a low voice. "Did you think I was that stupid that you could trick me?"

Zankou swallowed nervously, but said coolly, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Sure you don't," Wyatt sneered. "You set up Kaia. You wanted me to think she had betrayed me so that you could get rid of her. Get rid of your competition."

Zankou raised an eyebrow haughtily. "If I wanted to get rid of Kaia, I would have just killed her myself. As I recall correctly, you were the one who killed. Another victim of your indiscriminate energy blast during the battle."

"I heard the rumors circulating in the Underworld," Wyatt answered. "That attack wasn't a coincidence. You planned it. You made sure those demons attacked when I was weak."

"No, I didn't," Zankou said, at that at least was an honest answer. His plan had been to attack later that night, but the demons had disobeyed his orders and attacked as soon as they heard that the President of the United States had ordered the extermination of Wyatt and his followers.

It had worked out to his advantage, of course, but that didn't mean he had planned it that way.

"Do you think lying is going to save you?" Wyatt taunted. "I know the truth. I know what you did."

Zankou sighed. Fine," he said. And he conjured a fireball, letting it fly at Wyatt with a sudden burst of power. The blonde ducked to the side, and Zankou continued his onslaught, speaking while he did so. "I did have Kaia framed. And yes, I was planning on killing you, too. Did you really think someone as powerful as me would allow myself to be ordered about by a witch? A _Halliwell_?"

"Did you really think someone as powerful as myself could be defeated by a mere demon?" Wyatt shot back, smirking as he raised his hands and let a rush of energy flow from his fingertips. Zankou flew backwards, smashing into the wall, but he still rose again to his feet, refusing to be beaten.

"I must admit I was content, in the beginning, to follow your instructions," Zankou said, conjuring another fireball. "But I have higher aims now."

"And the warlock? Latere? Did you send him as well?"

"Well… he did offer to help," Zankou replied.

Wyatt's eyes turned almost black as he let another wave of energy leave his hands, this time in the shape of all-consuming fire. The warlock was gone now, dead by his powers. And Zankou would soon follow.

The demon felt the fire burning all around him, but he had gained powers in the past several years as well, and he wasn't going to give up so easily. He flung his hands out, forcing the fire backwards, pushing the pulsating mass of heat and flame away from him, slowly quenching it.

"Impressive," Wyatt said softly, awed despite his best efforts to stay neutral.

Zankou smirked lightly before flaming away.

Wyatt turned away from the spot Zankou had stood only moments before. "You can run," he said into the silence, "but you can't hide. This isn't over yet."

* * *

Next Chapter: Over the Line

Due: Fri 4/18


	33. Over the Line

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three: Over the Line

Two weeks after Jason's death, Chris and Myst found themselves in the Underworld once again. He'd been following a lead, one that didn't turn out so well, and they were now surrounded by ten demons and warlocks. The cave was filled with a heavy smoke that clung to the walls and ceiling, making it difficult to see.

"Lord Wyatt will be pleased that you've ventured out into the open again," one of the demons said, striding forward with a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. "Did you really think you could avoid him forever?"

Chris responded by throwing out his arm, telekinetically shoving the demon through the air. His opponent shimmered away before any harm could come to him, however, and reappeared a moment later behind Chris. A fireball appeared in his hand, but Myst flung a knife at him, effectively vanquishing the demon before he could cause attack Chris again.

That was the signal for an all-out way to begin.

An energy ball passed so close to Chris' face he could feel the heat as it scorched his hair. He knew Myst had his back, but they were outnumbered and the smartest thing to do at this point would simply be to orb away.

But he didn't. The fire burned in his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to kill each and every single demon and warlock in this place. His vision was tinged red with fury, and it wasn't long before he was so involved in his own rage and the battle before him that he could think of nothing else.

A sharp pain in his stomach jolted him back to reality, and he paused in his fighting long enough to see the blood seeping through his shirt, spreading out across the fabric. The warlock in front of him smirked victoriously, holding a bloody athame in one hand.

"Oh, did that hurt, little witch?" he taunted.

"Not as much as this will," Myst's voice rang through the cave, echoing in the air, and as the warlock turned to look at her, she shoved her knife directly through his chest, watching in satisfaction as he erupted into flames.

Chris groaned and stumbled, holding out one hand to catch himself against the wall. There were still four demons left, the other six now nothing more than piles of ash on the floor. Myst was at his side as she warily eyed the opponents.

"Chris, orb us somewhere else," she instructed. She didn't want to risk opening a portal to Valhalla here where the demons would have the chance to follow her through to the island sanctuary. But they also couldn't fight, not if Chris was this badly hurt.

"No," Chris said, taking a moment to breath before pushing himself away from the wall. "It's not a bad cut. I can still fight."

"Listen to your friend, little witch," one of the demons said. "You don't want to get killed, do you?"

"Chris, come on!" Myst ordered, grabbing his arm.

"No," Chris snarled. "I'm not leaving the battle unfinished." He extended his hand, and a discarded athame flew up from the floor. He closed his fingers tightly around it and eyed the four demons. "Who wants to die first?"

"Chris!" Myst practically screeched. This was a bad idea.

But Chris was already engaged in battle once again. She watched helplessly as he exchanged blows, blocking each attack and striking back with his own powers.

Myst turned to face two of the demons. One, a particularly large brute with yellow eyes and club like arms, advanced slowly on her, and she took a deep breath and focused on all her training and skills. When one of those large club arms came swinging towards her, she ducked under and then flipped backwards, kicking him in his unprotected face as her body rotated midair.

He only stumbled slightly, falling back two steps.

She kept attacking, moving with grace and fluidity only a trained warrior could posses. Still, the demon seemed immune to the force of her blows.

Chris was faring no better. The pain in his stomach was steadily growing, and try as he might he couldn't quite ignore it. The adrenaline pumping through him could no longer stave off the pain, and his vision grew dim around the edges.

Then he heard the sickening crunch as Myst was knocked off her feet and into the wall directly behind them. He spun around in time to see her fall to her hands and knees, momentarily stunned by the force of the blow.

Myst winced, blinking away the fogginess, looking up in time to see the demon looming over her. But then she felt a hand wrapping around her arm and turned to see Chris kneeling at her side just before the world erupted into blue and white orbs.

They reappeared in another cave, far away from the fighting.

"Are you okay?" Chris asked, worried. He pushed away the loose strands of her hair and stared at the jagged wound that was leaking blood onto her pale skin.

"Yes, I'm fine," Myst answered. "I think both of us need some healing."

"Yeah," Chris agreed quietly.

She rose unsteadily to her feet. "It was stupid to stay there and fight those demons," she chastised. "We could have both gotten killed. What were you thinking?"

Chris shook his head. "I just… They work for Wyatt. Didn't you hear that?"

"You can't save your brother by letting his demons kill you," Myst said, but even as she said those words, she was wondering why Chris had come so close to dying. Didn't the demons know that they weren't allowed to kill him? Wyatt had made it incredibly clear exactly what would happen to anyone who harmed his little brother… or, really, anyone else in the family.

"I know… but I have to try," Chris gasped, shaking in an effort just to stay standing.

Myst reached out to steady him before he could fall. He almost fell into her, and they were so close she could feel his breath and hear the beating of his heart. He was looking up at her with those brilliantly green eyes, and for a moment she forgot the pain in her head and the danger of the demons still hunting them in the Underworld.

"Thanks for coming with me and watching my back," Chris murmured.

"Always," Myst answered, her word filled with promise. Their faces were only inches apart, he was smiling, a little disoriented, but still happy.

She reached up and touched the pendant on her throat, opening a portal into Valhalla. Wordlessly, the two of them walked through the shimmering green light.

* * *

"He could have died, Myst," Leo said in frustration as he kicked at the rocks on the dirt path. He'd just finished healing his son, and he was less than thrilled about that.

"Yes, but he didn't," Myst argued calmly.

"Is that supposed to make this situation better?" Leo demanded hotly. "My son is rushing off into danger every single day. I've already lost Wyatt, I'm not going to lose Chris also."

Myst shrugged. "He's going to fight demons whether you want him to or not," she answered. "At least this way I'm there to keep an eye on him."

"Yes, and today you _both_ almost died." Leo turned away from Myst. "I'm going to find a way to stop this, Myst. With or without your help." And without another word he stalked away.

* * *

Wyatt paced back and forth across the attic floor. The Museum had closed for the evening, and the manor was empty now, save for the Twice Blessed and the two demons that flanked him, body guards protecting him against any possible threats.

But he didn't want the companionship of demons at the moment. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be alone, to grapple with his troubled thoughts.

"Leave me," he ordered, and the two demons bowed and shimmered away.

The hologram of the book stood on its pedestal in the center of the room. How many times had he stood there as a child, watching his mother and aunts as they flipped through the pages of the ancient tome, searching for some demon to vanquish or some spell to cast? This room was full of memories, memories from a time when his family was still together, when he was certain that nothing could ever tear them apart.

He reached out and casually rested his hand on the podium, watching as his fingers passed through the hologram, distorted slightly by the wavering colors of light.

Zankou had proven to be much more of a threat than he had originally anticipated. Perhaps he should have seen it coming, because, honestly, would a demon that powerful willingly agree to work for a witch? But Zankou's betrayal had cost him several of his followers, including Kaia, and removed any chance that he could get another magical being to infiltrate the government. Zankou had been his link to the happenings within the White House, and without the demon there, Wyatt had no idea what the president of the most powerful country in the world might be planning for them all.

And Zankou's attack had distracted him long enough to cost him his Uncle Jason… and Chris.

Jason.

He wondered, vaguely, how Prue was faring. He remembered losing his own mother, remembered as the light faded from Chris' eyes and Paige turned away, mouth wide with horror. Remembering what it felt like when the realization dawned in all its horror… remembered what it felt like when he knew his mother was dead.

He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating. He could hear the murmurs of movement in the Underworld, and knew Zankou was rallying his troops. He could sense the changing sentiments in the wind, and knew the human government was not finished with this fight. But he could also feel a sharp pain, something pulling at all the pieces of his heart, threatening to rip him apart.

It was his connection to his family. Even after all this time apart, he could still feel their grief.

He walked away from the hologram and paused by the window. Glancing up at the sky, he said quietly, "I promise you, Mom, I will do whatever is necessary to keep Chris safe. And Aunt Phoebe, I won't let anyone take Prue from this world before her time. Aunt Paige, I'll make sure the demons don't get Ria and Adam." He took a slow breath. "I promise you, all three of you, no matter what happens, I will not let this world destroy us. If need be…"

He turned away from the window.

"…I'll make sure we destroy it first."

* * *

The news came quickly, abruptly, and without any warning. As Chris lay in his bed, feverish and exhausted, drained from the earlier fight, those around him heard the rumors, and stopped everything they were doing.

Wyatt was leading an all-out assault on the Underworld.

It would be a battle to end all battles. He'd amassed his most powerful demons and warlocks, and they'd attacked Zankou's faction. Without warning, without compromise, without mercy.

Unfortunately, several witches and innocent mortals had been caught in the middle of this battle, which raged both above and below the Earth.

Freya buckled her sword onto her belt and slid a knife into the sheath on her boot. "Leo, stay here with the other few white-lighters. We're going to need you to heal the wounded." She glanced over at a few of the warriors. "You six, go with Myst. The rest of you, come with me. We're going in two groups. Lila, David, join Myst. Grishom, stay with Leo. Ria will come with me, Adam and Prue will stay here."

The others obeyed quickly, grabbing weapons, dividing into the aforementioned groups.

"Remember," Freya cautioned, "we are here to engage as little as possible. Rescue everyone possible, but do not under any circumstances face Wyatt. Is that clear?"

Before anyone could answer, a voice asked shakily, "What's going on?" and Chris emerged from the surrounding bushes, having woken up to the sound of clamoring noise and the scrape of steel weapons.

"We're going on a mission, Chris," Freya answered simply. "You need to lie down again. Leo may have healed you, but you're still weak."

"I'm fine,' Chris insisted, even though the exhaustion made it hard for him to stand. "I can help you if you need to fight."

"You'll be of no use to us, Chris," Leo interrupted. "Stay here with me. You can coordinate our efforts from this end."

Chris snorted impatiently. "I'm not a pacifist, Dad. I'm better in a fight."

"Not this one," Freya interrupted, her tone firm. "You will be too much of a liability, especially once Wyatt figures out you are in the open. We can't afford that type of distraction, not if this battle is as big as I've been lead to believe."

"Why is he attacking now?" Lila asked quietly, looking to Leo for any explanation of the eldest Halliwell son's behavior. He lost several followers and used a lot of his own strength and power when the government attacked him. Doesn't he need time to recoup from those losses?"

"I don't know," Leo admitted. "I guess he just feels driven to attack."

"My sources say he is going after Zankou," Freya said thoughtfully.

"Who?"

"A very powerful upper-level demon," Freya answered with a bit of a grimace. "He killed a few of my sisters before he was imprisoned. But he was set free at some point…" She trailed off for a moment, then added, "Just a few weeks ago, I was certain Zankou was working for Wyatt. If Wyatt is attacking now, he probably has reason to believe that Zankou has betrayed him."

"I should come," Chris said again.

Leo glanced at Freya for a moment, then said, "Chris, come here for a moment."

"Dad, I'm not…"

"Go with Leo, Chris," Freya ordered. "Speak to him, or we certainly won't consider allowing you to join this mission."

Chris glared at her, but nodded and reluctantly followed his father across the path and into the large cave in the center of the island. He glanced around, noting the seats carved into the stone, the large cage in the center of the floor, the discarded swords lying on the ground.

"Chris, I know you want to help Wyatt, but you can't do that if you're dead," Leo began strictly, "and we both know you are in no condition to fight."

"I'm fine," Chris countered, his words sounding almost petulant. "You healed me."

"Yes," Leo agreed, "but you've been running yourself ragged fighting demons every single night. Your body isn't equipped to handle that type of strain. You need to rest."

"I'm not a pacifist, Dad," Chris snapped irritably. "All I inherited from you was the ability to orb and to die by dark-lighter poison. I'm still a witch."

"And even witches need to take a break every now and then."

"Mom wouldn't have just turned her back on a fight," Chris snarled, his face filled with fury.

Leo swallowed, pushing away the painful memories of Piper, and answered calmly, "Your mother didn't go hunting demons either, Chris. She never wore herself down this much. She knew enough not to go looking for trouble."

Chris sneered unpleasantly, "I'm not looking for trouble, Dad. "Trouble already found me." He turned his back on his father and walked further into the cave. "Or is it that you just don't think I'm strong enough to do any good?"

"I know you are powerful, Chris," Leo answered calmly, "but…"

"But what?" Chris demanded, his words a hiss and anger. "Not powerful enough to take on a few demons?"

"You're being too reckless, Chris," Leo argued, silently praying his sullen son would understand the concern in his words. "You almost died today, and your carelessness with your own life put Myst in danger as well."

"We escaped, didn't we?"

Leo shook his head. "You aren't taking this seriously. When you are in a battle, everyone around you needs to know that they can trust you to act rationally. Right now, we don't know if we can do that."

"You don't trust me?" Chris asked, words dangerously low and dripping with venom. "Why? Do you think I'm going to turn evil and join Wyatt? Is that why you asked Myst to keep an eye on me? Is that why you wanted Daryl to find me when I was Outside? Worried I will rush of to Wyatt with all the secrets of your precious Resistance."

"No!" Leo interjected. "That's not what I meant, Chris, and you know it. But you aren't being rational. You're letting your anger drive you, and you've been doing that ever since Bianca…"

"This has nothing to do with her!" Chris exploded, his voice echoing off the walls of the cave and reverberating in the air around them. "_Nothing_."

"Chris, please. I just want to keep you safe," Leo said quietly.

Chris rolled his eyes. "You can't stop me, Dad. I'm going on this mission, and there is nothing you can do to change that."

Leo stared into those stubborn jade eyes, and knew he wouldn't change Chris' mind, not now. But if Chris went off on his own, he was liable to get himself, and those around him, killed. And it was a father's job to protect his son from everything… including his own bad decisions.

"Yes, Chris," Leo murmured, "I _can_ stop you." He flicked his hand, and Chris found himself bursting apart into white and blue dots. When he reappeared he was standing across from Leo, separated from the other man by the wooden bars of the cage.

"A cage? You really think that is going to stop me?" Chris asked derisively. He tried to orb, but the anti-orbing spell knocked him backwards, and he crashed to the ground, falling flat on his back. He pushed himself back to his feet, but knew instinctively that this place would be protected by more than just an anti-orbing spell. Crystals, maybe, and potions. There was no way out, at least not without help.

Leo let out a shaky breath, staring at the utter hatred reflected on Chris' face. "I'm sorry," he said, "but this really is for the best." And he turned and walked out of the cave.

* * *

It was chaos and blood and smoke and demons. It was screaming. It was tears and pain and fear.

Ria felt herself shoved to the side as three or four demons collided into her, too concerned about staying alive to pay attention to the fact that there was a witch in front of them. She pushed away from them, blinking around the neighborhood. There were people lying on the ground, crying, and young children screaming for their parents in the middle of the street. A flash of light illuminated the scene further into the distance as a burst of electricity smashed into nearby telephone pole, igniting the interconnected wires.

"What is Wyatt doing?" she gasped.

Freya shook her head, also struck by the size of the disaster around them. "I… I guess he's proving his point. He really wants Zankou dead."

"Yeah, but this… all those innocents dying…"

Freya drew her sword grimly. "I don't really think he cares anymore."

Ria pushed into the crowd, the overwhelming chaos threatening to drag her under. She blinked away the acrid smoke that burned in her eyes. Demon fighting demon… how did they even know who was on which side? Or was this just a free-for-all, and the last demon standing won the battle in the end.

She bent down next to a young girl who had fallen to her knees by an overturned newspaper stand. The girl lifted her tear-streaked face towards Ria. She couldn't have been more than four or five.

"Mommy? Where's Mommy?" she whispered, her voice choked and hoarse. "Please… want Mommy."

A demon turned at the sound of her voice, conjuring an energy ball and taking aim at the child. Ria reacted instantly, wrapping one arm around the girl and orbing the two of them to safety.

A building exploded behind them as they reformed on the sidewalk near an old mini-mart. She'd been in this part of town once or twice in the past. The coffee shop across the street had been her mother's favorite place to have breakfast, and her father had liked the bookstore with the separate section for homeopathic uses for herbs and crystals.

Both places were on fire.

"What happened?" Ria asked, bending over the little girl. "What happened to you?"

"Mommy and I were shopping," the girl sniffed, "and we came out into the street, and then the bad people attacked. And Mommy got taken by someone, got pulled away." She paused, then wailed, "I can't find her."

Ria impulsively hugged the child. "I'm going to send you some place safe," she promised, "and then I'm going look for your mother." She stepped back and waved her hand, and the girl orbed away to an old warehouse they were using as a base. The plan was to get as many innocents out of the area as possible, and Leo and a few other Valkeries were at the warehouse, coordinating getting the mortals to safety and the witches to Valhalla.

She rose again to her feet and this time walked directly into the fray, letting herself get swept up in the battle. Fear overwhelmed everything she did, everything she felt, and the adrenaline rushing through her body gave her an extra push, her fighting skills bursting forth. She landed punches on demons and dodged the attacks of dark-lighters, all the while looking, hunting, trying to find more innocents.

Something hot and wet smeared across the front of her shirt, and she looked down to see that it was blood. The blood of the man in front of her who had just screamed in agony before being consumed by a giant fireball. Blood splattered on the pavement, and she hissed in surprise.

Someone grabbed her arm, and she stumbled forward and twisted away, looking over at the attacking demon. She pushed at him, a potions bottle shattering in her hands as she slammed it against his chest. When he burst into flame, the fire licked at her skin, burning her, and she fell to her knees, her arms smarting and smoking.

There was another crash of something falling, stones hailing from the sky like rain, fire crackling as sparks jumped from one place to another. Again, the air was filled with screams.

She rose again, unsteadily, and looked around. She's already orbed countless sobbing innocents away, but there were still more people caught in this battle, still others trampled beneath the stampeding feet.

To her left, a man was pushing through the battle, dark eyes glinting dangerously. He was shouting out orders, directing several of the demons, pushing his own forces against those all around him. He flung potions carelessly, not caring who they hurt, who they destroyed. She tried to move towards him, but the throng of demons all around her pushed her back and away and he was swallowed up by the crowd once more.

She closed her eyes and focused on that man, clearly some kind of leader. A moment later she appeared by his side, bypassing the demons were her orbing. The brightly colored dots of light caught the attention of several demons all around her, and she found herself being attacked on all sides.

The man turned towards her, eyes meeting her gaze, and his lips quirked into a cruel smile. "You're one of the Halliwells," he said, his voice quiet and yet somehow audible above the roar of the battle. "I had a run in with your Christopher just recently."

Ria blinked, then a rush of anger welled inside her. "You're the one who tried to kill Daryl," she said.

It was as though the rest of the battle around them faded away. She saw nothing except for this man, heard nothing except for his mocking laugh as he advanced on her, cold eyes focused on her face. She forgot the potions stored safely in the satchel at her side, forgot everything except the thought of losing Daryl, the agony of watching yet another person die. Daryl was alive… and Ria was going to make sure it stayed that way.

He knocked her to the ground, and she nearly saw stars from the force of the blow. She kicked at his feet, and he stumbled backward, wincing. She twisted away from his next attack, rolling along the cement, slamming into the feet of several demons all around her.

They were closing in from all sides.

She felt something sharp under her shoulder and reached down to slide her hand around the object.

It was an athame.

It was sudden. As she felt the stinging sensation of his boots connecting with her bruised ribs, as agony flared within her, she forced herself to orb, reappeared directly behind him. He started to turn, but it was too late, and she'd already plunged the athame into his back and watched as the blood spilled out over her hands and his eyes rolled backwards into his head.

He fell with a heavy thud, and something came loose, a tiny photograph falling from the pocket of his pants. She looked at it, then at her own hands, and realized in dawning horror that this blood was red… and human.

She'd killed a human.

He was hardly an innocent, she knew, and her parents had killed humans before on occasion when there was no other way, when they would have died otherwise. But still…

She reached for the photograph. A little girl smiled up at her, beaming with enthusiasm and exuberance. Her wide eyes were shinning and her hair was pulled back into two braids. She was young…

Ria flipped the photograph over and stared at the writing on the back. _Anna, age four_.

The resemblance between the two was striking. His eyes were exactly like hers, yet his were cruel and dangerous, and her gaze was filled with honest, trusting delight. The same hair, the same face-shape, the same nose…

His daughter.

The blood from her hands smeared along the surface of the picture, obscuring the girl from view, and Ria wondered morbidly who would tell the little child that her father was dead.

* * *

Next Chapter: And You Can't Go Back

Due: Sun 4/27


	34. And You Can't Go Back

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Note the time change at the beginning of the chapter. This takes place a few days after when the last one ended.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four: And You Can't Go Back

"Chris? Hey, Chris," Myst called, ducking underneath the low-hanging braches of the willow tree. The young witch-lighter was sitting on the mossy ground, leaning with his back against the tree trunk. He looked up at the sound of his friend's voice.

"Hey, Myst."

It had been four days since the attack by Wyatt's forces. The battle had left causalities on both sides, but for Chris the greatest outcome was his fury with his father. If Leo had been there, he would have done everything possible to make the white-lighter just as miserable as Chris had felt for those two days locked in the cage, unable to know how the battle was going, helpless to offer assistance.

Of course, he hadn't had the opportunity to vent his feelings to his father because Leo had not returned from the battle. No one really seemed to know what had happened to him, although Chris was sure that if his father was dead, he'd at least be able to feel it. Which meant Leo had probably either been kidnapped by Wyatt's demons or was off in the Underworld still fighting.

The fighting had been driven mostly underground. Mortals were left to go about their lives, picking up the pieces that had been torn apart by the sudden burst of vicious warfare. Daryl had returned to the Outside, and without Leo around to argue, no one had bothered to stop him. Prue still sat by herself, mostly ignoring those around her, apparently content to do nothing, not even take part in the fighting. Her father's death still ate away at her, and no one had the free time to offer help.

Since the battle, Ria too had become withdrawn, barely sparing Chris a glance as he passed by, wandering about the island. It was as though the remaining Halliwells had drifted so far apart that nothing could bring them back. Only Adam seemed exempt from this depressing truth, and he did his best to get the others to confide in him, but his attempts were mostly in vain.

Myst did not like what was happening to the others anymore than she liked the change she saw in Freya's eyes. The leader of the Valkeries had lost many sisters in that battle, as well as in all the fighting preceding it, and was only barely managing to hold herself together. Those that looked to her for comfort or guidance found themselves sorely disappointed.

"We're sending another search party out for Leo and the other missing members. David is leading it. Do you want to join?"

Chris frowned his head at Myst's question. She'd come to him many times during the past few days, trying to get him to search for his father. Her pleas had mostly fallen on deaf ears, and he spent much more time looking for Wyatt and vanquishing demons. Neither task had filled the aching hole in his chest, and the rage that constantly simmered in his jade green eyes was a tribute to how out of sync he felt with the world around him.

"I can't," Chris answered. "I have another demon to find."

"We could really use your help," Myst replied, taking a seat across from him. She folded her hands in her lap, letting the lush green grass flutter against her bare legs in the wind. "You're a good fighter, and having someone who can orb is an asset."

Chris snorted in disbelief. "My father apparently didn't think so."

Myst nodded slowly, flicking a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. She hadn't agreed with Leo's methods of keeping Chris out of the fight, but she also hadn't known what he'd done until much later, until he'd disappeared and she'd returned back to the island. But even if she didn't approve of what he had done, she knew it was probably the only thing that had kept Chris alive. If he'd joined in that chaotic battle, his uncontrollable rage would have left him without any inhibitions or common sense, and he'd have either been killed or kidnapped by Wyatt.

"He was only trying to keep you safe," she murmured.

"By locking me in a cage?" Chris spat.

"He was doing what he thought was best," Myst answered. She leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee. He stared down at her long fingers, then up at her face. She was close now, and he could count every eyelash, see all the pixels of color in her eyes.

"What he thinks is best has never really been for the benefit of the family," Chris replied finally, looking away quickly. "He was never around when I was growing up, and then he never trusted me… It's like he couldn't stop thinking about Wyatt, and if Wyatt was evil, then I shouldn't be trusted either."

Myst opened her mouth to say something, then closed it with a frustrated sigh. When Chris had first come to Valhalla, all that time ago, it was after having chosen Wyatt over the rest of his family, having believed Wyatt's lies instead of facing the truth that the entire world was trying to show him. He'd been greeted with suspicion by the Valkeries and open contempt by some of the other witches, but Leo had steadfastly denied Freya's claim that there was anything to worry about from Chris.

And yet, somehow, Chris had misheard part of a conversation, and walked away from an argument thinking that his father didn't trust him and Freya had been arguing for him, instead of the other way around. But Leo had made Freya swear not to tell Chris the truth, and the only other person who knew about any of that was Myst. She wanted so desperately to tell Chris that Leo had always believed in him, but she had made a promise, and the words were caught in her throat.

"He never thought you were evil, Chris," Myst said finally, settling for a compromise. She understood Leo's motivations for keeping the truth of the argument secret from Chris as well. The young witch-lighter looked up to Freya, and no one had the heart to tell him that the woman he idolized and revered had wanted to lock him in a cage because she trusted him so little.

She understood, but she didn't like all the lies. Once, just once, she wished Leo would come clean with his son.

Chris shook his head, refusing to respond. He didn't know how to answer her comment, didn't know if he could really believe a thing she said about Leo. The relationship between himself and his father was so complicated, so strained, so… almost destroyed… that he doubted it could be fixed at this point, even if he'd wanted to try.

He didn't want to try.

"I have to go, Chris," Myst said after a moment, breaking the lingering silence. "I told David I'd help look for your father." She rose, standing over him, and he tilted his head up to regard her.

"Be careful," he warned finally. "Just be careful."

* * *

Zanou flamed into yet another cave, closing his eyes as he did so and letting his senses reach out towards the surrounding area. In the past four days, he'd watched the Twice Blessed decimate every ally he had, run him out of every safe haven, and force him into smaller and smaller boxes until it seemed like he was well and truly trapped.

He was alone here, although he doubted that would last long. He had not expected such a vicious attack from the eldest surviving Halliwell witch, or an all-out war that had destroyed so much of the mortal world. It was as though Wyatt had lost touch with whatever remnants of humanity lingered within, and now there was nothing left but power.

He ran hand through his hair, almost glowering at the realization that he'd been forced into hiding, on the run from a witch. How could he have let this happen? He was so much stronger than this, yet now he was running scared like some pathetic lower-level demon.

A shimmering green portal burst into life behind him, and he spun around, a fireball appearing easily in his hand. Eyes narrowed, he stared at the witch who stepped out of it. She was young, with dark hair and dark eyes and a fiery temper burning in her expression. He knew exactly who she was, most people did.

"Prudence Halliwell," Zankou mocked, tossing the fireball up and down. "Come to play with the big boys?"

She eyed the fireball in his hand, her lips quirking into a cruel smile. "Rumor has it that you're on the run from my darling eldest cousin. What's the matter? Scared of a single witch?"

Zankou flushed, a dull red that suffused his face with embarrassment and anger. "How dare you…?" he snarled, advancing dangerously towards the witch.

Prue raised a hand and pointed her finger at him, and a burst of flames jetted from her palm, hitting him directly in the chest and propelling him into the far wall. He crashed against it and slid to the ground, surprised by the force of her attack.

"You'll find, Zankou, that Wyatt isn't the only Halliwell to be feared."

Zankou scrambled to his feet, eyeing Prue. He'd heard rumors that the daughter of the middle Charmed One had been given the powers of elementals, making her a force to contend with if she ever chose to use them. They were difficult to control and could easily pull the user into a cycle feeding on the desire to continue using them. Only a truly strong witch or demon could master such powers.

Prue would be a challenge.

But after he killed her, he could take her powers and that would give him an added boost in the fight against her cousin.

"Have you come to fight me, little girl?" he taunted, shaking his head sardonically.

"Rumor has it that you were also responsible for that attack on Wyatt's headquarters several days ago. The one that ended with my father getting killed." Prue gave him a hard stare, waiting for him to respond to her words. He shrugged, inkling his head, and she continued, "If it hadn't been chaos when we orbed in there, it might have all worked out. You ruined everything."

"First of all," Zankou answered her accusation, "I had no way of knowing you were going to attack at the same time. It wasn't like I planned it, although I'm certainly not complaining about the outcome." Prue tensed, and he smirked cruelly and continued, "Second, it really isn't my fault that your father couldn't defend himself against that half-Manticore child. He was just pathetic. That's all. And third, the President of the United States also ordered an attack on Wyatt at the same time, so why aren't you threatening him?"

Prue was shaking, allowing her anger to course wildly through her veins as her vision shimmered red with fury and a desire for revenge. "_Will_ is dead," she answered, spitting out the name. "Wyatt saw to that. And I can't kill Wyatt, although this is partially his fault. I also can't kill the President of the United States or any of the people involved in the mortal attack since they are human. But you… I can kill you." She inhaled slowly, eyes widening as the rush of adrenaline made her entire body stiffen in the anticipation of the fight. "And I can enjoy every minute of it."

Zankou shook his head. "Cocky little witch, aren't you?" Without warning, he threw a fireball at her and she barely managed to duck to the side before it collided with the back wall in a burst of sparks. The cave was monetarily illuminated by the fire, the shadows dancing up the wall.

Prue swung around, her hair flying in her face, and with the wave of one hand she let an entire tornado's worth of wind flow through the space between herself and her enemy, picking up dust and dirt and small pebbles as it did so. Zankou flamed away from the tornado and the wind subsided.

Prue looked around, shoving the hair out of her eyes and blinking several times. "Going to run, demon? Are you that afraid of me?"

"I'm afraid of nothing!" Zankou cried, flaming in directly behind her and grabbing her by the arm. He shoved her up against the wall, and her head snapped backwards, hitting the stone and causing stars to burst in front of her eyes. "But you should be very afraid of me," he continued to hiss, his voice practically inhuman.

Prue met his gaze without flinching even as the throbbing pain threatened to pull her into darkness. "Never," she replied in a low growl. Flames appeared around her feet, licking at the ground, rising upwards towards Zankou in a rush of heat.

Zankou dropped her and stepped away from the fire. "So you can conjure the elements without your hands? I'm impressed," he said reluctantly. Then he lifted his gaze to her face. "But it won't save you."

"I don't need saving," Prue answered defensively.

"Even if you do manage to kill me, it won't bring your father back to life," Zankou said pointedly. "What do you really think you'll get out of this? Revenge won't make that ache go away."

"Shut up," Prue hissed. The heat in the room was rising, the air was becoming humid. Fire was eating away at the ground, somehow burning over a dirt floor and sliding up stone walls. Whatever control Prue had once exercised over the fire was gone now as she focused all her energy on ending the life of the demon before her.

Zankou tried to fight her flames, but they seemed to be coming from everywhere. He attacked her with several kicks, knocking her to the ground. Her own fire burnt her skin and singed her hair but she rose back to her feet and continued to fight furiously. She parried his blows and attacked with her own punches, landing a few on his face and chest before he overpowered her once again. He pushed her back into the wall with enough force to drive all the wind out of her body, and she nearly collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.

He was looming over her, his body silhouetted against the raging fire that burned behind him. She blinked, her vision fuzzy, but she could still see that taunting smirk on his face, the laughter glittering maliciously in his eyes. She didn't care about Zankou, not really. She wanted Will, wanted the demon who had killed her father, but he was already gone, and she was left searching for something, _anything_, that would make that vicious ache inside her disappear.

It all seemed to happen at once, strangely sped up and in slow motion at the same time. It was as though she was watching the scene from outside her own body, and she observed with detached interest as she raised her own hand and let a whirlwind of fire explode from her body with more force than she had ever thought possible. By the time the power had faded and the world had become normal again, by the time she was abruptly back within her own body, in full control of what she was doing, it was all over.

And Zankou was nothing more than a pile of ash on the floor.

* * *

When the news of Zankou's vanquished reached Wyatt, he was both gladdened and displeased to hear of it. He had wanted to be the one who finally rid the world of that traitorous demon. He wanted to be the one to prove that he was stronger than any adversary and he would always win. To have that victory snatched away from him was almost unbearable.

But he could not deny he was pleased to hear of the power his younger cousin now wielded. If Zankou had to be killed by someone, at least it was another Halliwell. And perhaps this use of power would finally guide Prue towards the understanding that the world was not divided into Good and Evil, but rather the Powerful and the Powerless.

However, none of these thoughts bothered Wyatt at the moment. Instead, he stared at the room around him, very close to smirking. The man standing behind the desk in front of him seemed to be both terrified and angered, a mixture of emotions that played out across his face. One hand inched towards an emergency intercom, but Wyatt frowned as he caught sight of the movement.

"Don't even think about it, Mr. President," he warned.

The President of the United States gave Wyatt a nervous look, but moved his hand back towards his body. He'd been surprised by the sudden swirl of blue and black orbs that filled the air moments ago, but when those little spheres of light had taken the shape of Wyatt Halliwell, his surprise faded into horror.

"What do you want?" he asked in a shaking voice.

Wyatt looked around the circular room again. "The Oval Office. I learned about it in school a couple times. That was back when your predecessor was in office, of course." He licked his lips. "I learned about the power and prestige of being President of the United States. I always imagined that you would be something larger than life. Something great and powerful and…" He trailed off, giving the President a thoughtful stare. "Imagine my disappointment to find out just how mediocre you really are."

"Mediocre?" the President asked, his voice low. "I figured out that monster you sent to act as my chief of staff wasn't human, didn't I? I launched an attack on your headquarters and destroyed many of your… creatures." Goading Wyatt wasn't the best move to make, given that he was unarmed and facing the most powerful magical being in the world, but the mortal could not help but take unabashed pleasure in the rage that momentarily leapt into Wyatt's eyes.

"Yes," Wyatt snarled, thinking of his Uncle Jason. "That battle cost me more than just my minions. That was not a wise move on your part."

The President walked around the desk, running on hand over the dark mahogany. "Did you really think you could attack my country and use your freak powers on my people, and not have to suffer the consequences?"

"Suffer the consequences?" Wyatt repeated with a sneer. Blue eyes narrowed, he asked in a tone of deathly seriousness, "Do you really think you have the ability to do _anything_ to me?"

"If I had no ability to do anything," the President answered calmly, "you wouldn't be here. But you sought me out, and that means you want something specific from me. It means you know I'm not as harmless as you would like to believe." His words were laced with a confidence he did not feel, and as he watched some unidentifiable emotions move behind Wyatt's almost inhuman eyes, he wondered if he had already sighed his death warrant.

Probably.

"Make no mistake," Wyatt snarled, "the only thing I want from you is your death."

The President let his hand slip behind his back, reaching out towards the emergency intercom button. As his fingers slipped across the smooth plastic surface, he said, "I won't be the only one dying tonight." And he pushed his fingers down hard on the button.

"Bad idea," Wyatt remarked as several men rushed into the room, guns trained directly on him. He waved one hand in a casual gesture, and several of the guns were telekinetically pulled away from their holders. They flew across the room, skidding along the floor and crashing into the wall. The air was filled with the crack of guns discharging as several more fired bullets at Wyatt. He blocked them with a force field, a modified version of the shield he'd had as a baby. The bullets bounced harmlessly off the energy field and clattered to the floor.

"What are you waiting for?" the President practically screamed as the guards hesitated, unsure what to do when it became clear that mortal weapons were not going to work against this enemy. "Kill him!"

"You really don't get it, do you?" Wyatt taunted, turning to face the President, dismissing the others in the room as though they didn't even matter. "You can't beat me. You can't stop magic from taking over the world. There is a new order taking control now. _My_ order."

The President scoffed, "Arrogant, aren't you?"

Wyatt tilted his head to the side, considering this. "Is it arrogance when everything you boast about is true?" he asked rhetorically. Then, with an almost casual blink of his eyes, the President of the United States went up in flames.

In the moment of complete silence that followed his attack, as the guards stood, unable to appropriately react to what they had seen, he orbed away.

* * *

"Chris? What are you doing? Why are you just sitting there?" Adam asked as he caught sight of his older cousin resting underneath a willow tree, running his fingers through a pool of sparkling clear water surrounded by mossy slopes.

Chris looked up at Adam. "What do you mean?" he asked, confusion marring his features for a moment as he regarded the younger boy. He was just entering his teenage years, and in any other world, his biggest problem would have been adjusting to life in the surly, sullen, no-longer-a-child, not-yet-an-adult years. But this wasn't any other world, and he had reached adulthood long before leaving childhood.

"They're looking for Uncle Leo," Adam replied, gesturing vaguely down one of the dirt paths. "Why aren't you helping them?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Why aren't you?" he snapped.

"Because Ria went, and one of us needed to stay here in case anyone needed someone who could orb," Adam answered tersely. "We thought you would be going also."

"Well, I'm not," Chris replied shortly, rising to his feet. "Anyway, there are other white-lighters here who can orb. You didn't need to stay. If you're so worried about Leo, go look for him yourself." He tried to push past the younger witch-lighter, but Adam caught him by the arm. Chris spun around, annoyed. "What do you want?"

"I want you to get over yourself long enough to see that the rest of us might actually need help," Adam answered, eyes narrowed with anger.

Chris froze, surprised by the harshness of Adam's words. Adam was always the sweet one, quiet and happy and seemingly content with life. Even after Wyatt's rise to power and the ensuing darkness that seemed to cover the magical world, even despite the fact that many members of the magical community no longer trusted the Halliwells because of what Wyatt had become, Adam was the one who seemed most able to rise above it all and still stop to smell the roses… however cliché that might be. The frustration in his eyes was so out of place that Chris found himself automatically wondering if perhaps his youngest cousin was possessed or under some sort of spell.

"Yeah, Uncle Leo stopped you from joining the fight. He probably saved your life. And yeah, it might suck that his way of doing it took the choice out of your hands, but you know what? It's nothing compared to what would have happened to all of us if you had died. We need you, Chris, but you are too busy being upset with your Dad and Bianca and the rest of the world to realize that there are more important things at stake than your own petty problems."

Chris' eyes flashed dangerously. "Petty?" he asked, outraged that Adam would refer to any of his problems in such a disparaging manner.

"You know what Prue has been doing lately?" Adam continued, ignoring Chris' question. "She's been completely loosing control of her elemental powers and setting things on fire. Anyone who approaches her runs the risk of being burnt alive, and she can't control it. She is falling apart, both emotionally and magically. She's turning into this dark version of herself, someone I barely even recognize. She needs her family, Chris. And you know what? Maybe you think Uncle Leo never prioritized this family but in the past couple years he has been there for Prue and for Ria and I more than you have."

Chris blinked slowly and looked away, unable to respond to Adam's tirade. There was a lot of truth in the other witch-lighter's words, but he refused to see them. Shaking his head, he tried to refute what he knew to be correct, unwilling to see himself in such an unflattering light.

"It isn't that simple, Adam," he said finally, green eyes finally moving back to his cousin's face. "I get that Prue is having a difficult time dealing with this. We've all lost, and it's been… hard." He inhaled and exhaled slowly, meeting Adam's accusing gaze and forcing himself not to look away. "But I can't… I can't help Prue. I don't know how to offer that kind of support. There are other things I can do, other ways I can help. But my dad refuses to let me and I…" He trailed off for a moment, then pushed ahead, his words sounding choked. "You have no idea what it is like to have your own father not trust you."

Adam's expression softened for just a moment. Then he said firmly, "After my mom died, may dad went… well, crazy. Do you remember that? Do you remember how he would go looking for demons every night? How he let his need for magic consume his life until there was nothing left? Until he died?" He ran a hand through his hair, his face going slightly gray as he remembered those trying times. "I was too young to stop it then. And so he died, because he cared more about getting revenge for Mom than he did about staying alive for Ria and I." He looked away from Chris, taking a few steps towards the water. "And then I watched it happen to Wyatt, watched him destroy himself entirely. And once again, I couldn't stop it because I couldn't even comprehend what Wyatt would become. And now I'm watching it happen to Prue." He spun around, hardened eyes piercing Chris. "And this time, I'm old enough to do something. But I can't do it without help. So where are you, Chris? Are you going to be helping me, or are you going to be wallowing in self-pity while the few remaining members of your family fall apart?"

Chris didn't answer for a moment. He couldn't even begin to put his emotions into words. Instead, he just stood there, staring at the young boy who had seemingly grown up while he was looking the other way. If he'd missed this change in Adam, what other changes to his family had slipped his attention?

He opened his mouth to say something, but a swirl of green light indicated the appearance of a portal, and a moment later several Valkeries, Ria, and David came stumbling out. The all hesitated when they saw Adam and Chris standing there, as though unsure what to say in the presence of the two witch-lighters.

But then Ria took a few steps forward, tears pooling in her eyes and threatening to spill down her face. "Chris…" she said, and then stopped, seemingly unable to go on. "Chris… We… we found Uncle Leo…" She wiped a hand over her eyes as her entire body wracked with sudden sobs and Chris felt a weight abruptly settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Where is he? Where's Dad?" the brunette asked worriedly.

Ria didn't answer, so Myst emerged from the group and looked directly into Chris' eyes. "We found him in the Underworld. He'd been trying to get more witches to safety, but… a dark-lighter must have attacked. I don't know how long he'd been… gone. A while, I think." She reached out towards Chris, but he backed away, horrorstruck. "I'm sorry, Chris," Myst murmured, wishing there was something else she could say, something to erase the look from Chris' eyes, the one that said everything just always kept getting worse. "But Leo's dead."

* * *

Next Chapter: At the End of All Things

Due: Wed 5/21


	35. The End of All Things

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So this chapter is pretty much just a transition. It is the end of the last part of the plot and the beginning of the new segment. There will be more action in the next few chapters.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five: The End of All Things

"What happened?" Chris asked, racing through the underbrush, pushing towards Myst. The blonde looked up, pale eyes wild with fear, and me this concerned gaze. The place was crawling with witches and white-lighters and everyone else sheltered by the Resistance and the protections of Valhalla.

"Chris!" Myst cried, pushing towards him. "We need to get everyone off of the island. Now!"

Chris frowned at her, not understanding the request. "What is it? What's wrong?" Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Ria and Adam both rushing towards the fray, prepared to help in anyway possible. He recognized some of the Resistance members, Lila leading a wounded witch to a waiting white-lighter, David and Grishom talking heatedly about something. But many of the others looked only vaguely familiar, as though he might have passed them once or twice during his stay on the island. It reminded him, once again, of just how many people sought sanctuary here, protection from his brother's rule. Several wood nymphs had gathered about, and the leprechauns and dwarves were helping tend to the wounded while fairies fluttered about, apparently trying to help despite their diminutive size.

"Chris!" Myst said again, this time her voice frantic, panic seeming to set in. "You need to get others out of here. Some place safe. It doesn't matter where, just far away."

"Why? What's going on?" Chris demanded. His gaze traveled from her eyes to her chest. A long slit in her clothing, starting from one shoulder and cutting itself diagonally across her body, indicated that she'd been attacked by something. Blood stained her shoulder and one arm, and a jagged cut ran along her neck.

"Wyatt's coming," Myst replied. She licked her dry lips, seemingly oblivious to her own injuries. The adrenaline pumping through her body prevented her from feeling any of the pain, and she was a warrior above all else, someone who did not yield to physical suffering, no matter how bad it might be.

"What? How? Did he get a pendant?"

Myst shook her heads, and the first glimmer of tears showed up in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, looking away and wiping her face with one hand. "The enchantments that keep Valhalla protected are all rooted in one person. In the keeper and protector of the island. They're broken now."

Chris shook his head, trying hard to comprehend her words. They barely made sense to him, and he looked past her again, towards the chaos and the frenzy. "But for the barriers to be broken, the keeper and protect of the island would have to be…" He stopped, abruptly unable to finish the sentence, to say the single word that would explain the fear, the pain, and the grief radiating from his friend.

Dead.

It was at that moment that his gaze finally fell on the body stretched out in the center of the crowd. Her blonde hair fell over exceptionally frail skin, and blood seeped into her clothing and pooled on the ground underneath her. Her eyes were open, and stared unseeingly up at the brilliantly blue sky.

"Freya…" Chris murmured, and Myst turned away from the sight as a strangled sob escaped her throat.

* * *

It had been two weeks since Leo's death. Two very long weeks. When news of the death of the President of the United States spread to the rest of the country, people began to cry for revenge. Fear of these magical beings drove mortals to desperate ends, and a new set of regulations were passed that allowed any person or creature suspected of being magical to be killed on sight.

This hadn't seemed to bother Wyatt much, and he struck back simply by ordering his demons to do what they do best… kill. It had been a blood bath of incredibly proportions, and the fighting still continued.

In the aftermath of Leo's death, no one had had time to focus on any other problem besides survival, and Prue's slow descent into the pain-filled darkness that had claimed her after the murder of her own father went unchecked by anyone who could have helped. Ria and Adam, both trying their best to hold themselves together, could barely manage to make it through a single day without the gut-wrenching realization that they had lost the last surviving parental figure in their family. And Chris, shell-shocked and grieving, refused to admit that he even cared about Leo's death, and focused instead on his own plots and plans to defeat Wyatt.

With Valkeries dying every single day, Freya had grown more and more weary of this battle. Chris was never able to get the exact story from anyone, and even after Myst was able to dry her eyes and move past the haunting image of Freya's broken body, the blonde warrior refused to speak of the details of her sister's death. It was an ambush of some kind, one set up by Wyatt when a few of the Resistance members went to rescue mortals from an attack near the Golden Gate Bridge. Myst was the only one who had seen Freya die, but it soon became clear to Chris that the death had been at Wyatt's hand. Only the Twice Blessed was powerful enough to kill the leader of the Valkeries, and even Freya hadn't stood a chance against his might.

And when she died, all the spells and potions and powers protecting Valhalla from outside infiltration faded, leaving it open and vulnerable. In the midst of the chaotic grief, the remaining Valkeries found themselves organizing a mass exodus from their own island even as Wyatt and his demons finally broke through and launched a full-scale attack on the Resistance.

Which was how Chris and Prue had ended up in a abandoned house on the outskirts of the city, trying to locate their two cousins.

"I don't sense them," Chris said, opening his eyes and looking over at Prue. She looked pale, and when she lifted questioning eyes to his face, he said quickly, "They're alive. I can feel that much. I just don't know where."

"Could they be in the Underworld?" she asked tersely. She had no idea why Ria and Adam would venture into such a place at a time like this, but she didn't know what else to suggest.

"Maybe," Chris agreed with an aggravated sigh. "But they're probably just blocking their signal the same way I am. We're not the only ones looking for them, you know." He didn't say it, but Prue nodded anyway, agreeing.

Wyatt would be looking for them also.

They'd escaped from Valhalla, taking as many people with them as possible. All members of the Resistance and those who had sought a safe haven on the island had been told to run, to get as far away as possible. There was nothing else that could be done for these people, not yet, not unless they were able to come up with another safe location.

Ria and Adam had been lost in the chaos, separated from Prue and Chris. And try as he might, Chris didn't know how to find them and put his family back together again.

"We need to find them," Prue said, her words forceful. "I don't care what it takes. We need to find them now!"

"I know that," Chris snapped. "But you interrogating me every few seconds is not helping. I can't find them."

"Well, try harder," Prue spat before turning and stalking over to the window. She looked out at the overgrown lawn that sloped down towards the street. It was cloudy, threatening to rain, but the air was humid, almost hot.

"I'm trying pretty damn hard," Chris muttered, casting an irritated look at his cousin's back.

Prue slanted him a look over her shoulder. "Obviously not hard enough, or you would have found them," she answered bitingly. "Stop arguing and start sensing again. Now!"

"You're being completely irrational," Chris protested. "Do you really think it is just a matter of how hard I'm trying? They have to protect themselves from Wyatt, and if they're using enough power to block the almighty Twice Blessed, do you really think _I'll_ be able to find them?"

"Well, with that attitude, it's a wonder you ever manage to find anyone," Prue hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. "You are the one with the white-lighter blood. Stop making excuses, Chris, and just do the job you were born to do!"

Chris met her gaze without flinching, seething at her harsh accusations. For a moment, the two of them simply stared at each other, and the argument may have spiraled even more out of control had a the front door of the house not suddenly been shoved inwards, and the familiar blonde walk into the room.

"Myst," Prue said, stepping past her cousin and addressing the other woman, "have you seen Adam or Ria? Do you know what happened to them?"

Myst shook her head. "I'm not sure. It was just… total chaos. The island is completely gone now, Wyatt has it." She swallowed painfully and looked down at her right hand. Prue and Chris both followed her gaze and saw another pendant clenched tightly in her hand.

Freya's pendant.

"So… what now?" Chris asked finally, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen at the reminder of the latest casualty in the war. Prue and Myst both looked at him, and he shrugged and pressed, "What do we do now?"

"It's over, Chris," Myst replied softly, quietly. "We take what is left of our friends and family and we run far, far away."

"But… we can't just leave," Chris protested, his words sounding weak even in his own mind. Still, the idea that they could just so easily walk away from this battle was haunting him.

"Chris, Freya and Leo were the heart and soul of the Resistance. With both of them gone, we don't have the ability to lead anymore. We don't have a safe haven, we don't have anything. Wyatt's _won_," Myst argued. "Don't you see that? It's over."

"No." Chris shook his head vehemently, taking a few steps backward in denial. "No. You're wrong."

Myst gave a helpless little shrug, not wanting to argue with him, but knowing that what she said was entirely true. Prue looked in between the two, then turned away and walked back to the window, her mind drifting to her two missing cousins. Chris, for his part, stared at Myst, then spun around sharply, refusing to believe.

He'd never really thought of his father as a leader. He knew that Leo had played an important role in the Resistance, in building it and keeping it strong and united. But he'd always assumed it was a white-lighter role, to help guide the others, offer suggestion, but at the end of the day be rather expendable to the fight. It hadn't occurred to him that Leo was something more than that, and without him around, they were all lost.

"My Dad couldn't have been that important," he said before he could stop him, before he could think through the words that came pouring from his lips. "He was just… just a pacifist."

Myst gave a dark chuckle. "Your father hasn't been a pacifist in a very long time," she answered softly.

"None of this matters," Prue interrupted from the window. "Look, we can argue over Uncle Leo and the Resistance later. But right now, we need to find Adam and Ria." She slanted a look at Chris. "Keep sensing."

* * *

David, black hair falling over red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, hurried through the labyrinth of twisting caves and corridors, searching for the two lost witch-lighters. He had safely escaped Valhalla with several of the survivors in tow, relying on his little-used teleportation power to get to safety. That use of power, however, had left him weary and drained. He was barely able to control the teleportation, and as a result he had to struggle to keep his body from simply disappearing and reappearing somewhere else.

He paused in the entrance to one of the caves. He had met up with Ria and Adam after the last of Wyatt's demons had reached the island, and the three of them had fled to safety. But somehow, in the frenzy that greeted them when they reappeared Outside, they'd gotten separated. The last he'd seen of them, Adam had been grabbed by a demon who had then shimmered away, and Ria had orbed after them, intent of saving her brother. David had followed, but the demon had blocked himself too well to be easily found.

He paused, frustrated. He knew they were close by, but he didn't know exactly where, and every cave in the Underworld seemed to be exactly the same. But he had to find them, no matter what.

His thoughts wandered back to when he had first met the two children. It was shortly after Wyatt had revealed the presence of magic to the world, and witches had been driven underground as they escaped the various organizations of mortals that wanted them dead. Adam and Ria had been hiding in the sewers, and Lila had wanted to talk to them, to offer them some form of comfort since anyone associated with Wyatt Halliwell was so disliked.

Lila…

He pushed thoughts of her from his mind and turned around, continuing through yet another corridor. When Leo had been forced to leave the two witch-lighters alone in those sewers while he contacted the Valkeries, Lila had promised that she would keep an eye on Ria and Adam, make sure they stayed safe. Lila wasn't there to keep the promise, but David wasn't about to let his responsibilities slide. He, too, had made that promise, more because he cared about Lila than because he wanted anything to do with a Halliwell, but he wasn't going to break that promise now.

He heard it them, the muffled sound of a scuffle, and then a sharper cry, echoing in the distance. He turned and began to run, his feet barely touching the ground. His heart was pounding uncontrollably, and his lungs struggled for oxygen, but he did not pause even for a moment.

He rounded a corner and skidded to a halt as he saw Ria and Adam facing four demons. Adam was injured, his white shirt stained with blood from a long gash on his side. He was on his knees, and Ria was standing in front of him, rage-filled eyes staring hard at the surrounding demons.

"Don't you dare come near my brother!" Ria spat.

"Get out of the way, child," one of the demons snarled in response, "and we might just let you live."

"Leave them alone!" David thundered, striding forward purposefully. One hand slid to the athame in his belt, and he pulled it loose and stabbed the demon that had spoken through the chest. He screamed, and burst into flame, and David turned towards the others. "Who's next?"

The three remaining demons attacked, but the fight was short. David successfully vanquished another, and Rai took care of the second. The third, realizing he was outnumbered, shimmered away.

"Thanks," Adam said weakly, looking up at David.

"Where's Lila?" Ria asked as she hurried over to her brother. David and Lila had been inseparable on Valhalla, and had worked together during the evacuation. She'd never been entirely sure if the two witches were just friends, or something more than that, but she knew they did almost everything together, and was surprised to see one without the other.

Then she registered the fact that David had not responded, and she twisted to look up at him with concern. She saw it then, the tears in his bloodshot eyes, the dark circles standing out on his pale skin, the shaking of his shoulders.

David met her gaze, then looked at Adam. For a moment, he opened his mouth as though about to say something, then lowered his eyes to the dirt floor.

"How?" Adam asked as realization dawned on his features. "How did she…?"

"Dark-lighters. She was defending a couple of the white-lighters." David let out a shaky breath and looked back at Ria. "They had to live, she said, because they were the only ones who could heal. She… they… the dark-lighters… they outnumbered her."

She nodded slowly, then reached out and took his hand. "She always was brave," Ria murmured. Then, placing her hand on Adam's shoulder, she orbed the two of them away.

* * *

"Cousins of the Halliwell line, I ask now for peace of mind,

To find the ones that I have lost, before the darkness takes a cost.

But keep me hidden from the other, lest danger return in the form of a brother.

Blood to blood, I summon thee. Blood to blood, return to me."

Chris and Prue intoned the spell together, and then let drops of blood fall from their fingers into the center of the pentagram they had drawn on the floor. After countless hours of sensing had yielded no clues as to their cousins' whereabouts, the two had decided on a spell instead. It had taken a while to word it just right, and even so, they were both a little worried about the possibility that somehow Wyatt would use the spell to find them. Magic was tricky like that, everything was in the wording of the spell.

A moment later, and the middle of the pentagram filled with blue and white lights that circled around each other and consolidated into Adam and Ria. A complete silence met their arrival, and for a split-second, the four witches just stared at each other, holding their breath.

The Prue hurried forward and hugged Ria and Adam tightly. "Thank God. We weren't sure what had happened to you, and Chris couldn't sense you anywhere."

Ria pulled away from Prue's embrace and glanced over at Chris. "Sorry. We blocked ourselves completely. We don't know what Wyatt can do, what he's capable of, and we couldn't take the chance that he would find us."

Chris pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm just glad you both are alright. Where have you been?"

Ria glanced around the house. "Is it safe to talk here?" she asked. The place looked rather dilapidated and derelict, and while she doubted it was a place many would think to look for her, she knew they really couldn't afford to be careless.

"I put crystals around the entire house," Prue replied. "Nobody gets in without us knowing about it."

"Okay." Ria glanced over at Adam and let out a long sigh. "Adam got captured by some demons, so I followed him. We were outnumbered, but David showed up. He helped us escape. When we returned from the Underworld, we ran into some more demons, and barely managed to get away from them alive. We split up after that. David went to find any other members of the Resistance who might still be alive. Ria and I went to Daryl's to make sure he was alright and to tell him… well, to tell him about the fall of the Resistance. Then we left and were just trying to figure out what to do when you summoned us."

"What do we do?" Prue asked despondently. "We've lost everything."

"Have you guys been here the entire time?" Adam asked, walking over to the broken sofa and cautiously taking a seat on one of the less-destroyed cushions.

"Most of it. We helped with the escape from Valhalla as much as possible, then came here. Myst was here for a bit also, but she left a little while ago to find the other Valkeries."

"If Wyatt's out there, trying to find us, we don't stand any chance in escaping him. Not without a sanctuary to hide in," Ria said thoughtfully. "Running and hiding isn't going to cut it, not now that we've lost Valhalla."

"What about all the innocents?" Chris added. "We don't have anywhere to hide them either."

"I'm not sure we could hide them," Ria added. "Most of the mortals don't even want our help anymore. If we use magic in plain sight, we run the risk of getting killed." It was true. Even those who had once sought safety by magical means were turning their backs on the plight of the magical community. With the hostility that was radiating from the rest of the world, it was hard to imagine that anywhere would ever be safe again.

"So what do we do? Do we just abandon everything?" Adam asked from his position on the sofa. "Do we look for some other realm that could offer us safety?"

"Like a different plane of existence?" Chris wrinkled his nose, not liking the idea. "We can't just give up."

"We might not have much of a choice," Prue countered. "None of us can beat Wyatt, and right now, I don't think any of us could even manage to stay alive in this world. It's broken, and it's past fixing."

"No, it's not," Chris replied forcefully. "I won't give up on it."

Ria took a seat in a wicker-back chair across from Adam. "Why not? It's already given up on us." She lifted haunted eyes to look up at the oldest of the cousins before her. "Chris, if we stay here and fight, it will be an all-out war. We will be fighting demons, warlocks, dark-lighters… and humans. There are only four of us here. Do you really think we can do that? Do you think we're strong enough?"

"I agree with Chris," Adam said before the older witch-lighter could answer. "We can't walk away from this world, no matter how much we may want to."

"So you want to fight and watch us all die?" Ria asked skeptically.

"There's a good plan," Prue muttered sarcastically.

"No," Chris said, his voice filling with determination. "No, we're not giving up on this. We can't." He looked at Prue and Ria, both of whom were regarding him with so much skepticism that it was all he could do to keep from lecturing them about having an open mind. "We've all made mistakes in the past couple years, and I'm certainly no exception to that. So maybe it was be easier to hide now. Maybe it would be a better choice in terms of what we want or need. But this isn't about wants and needs. It's about rights and wrongs, and we already knew what the right choice was. Somehow, we have to stay and fight. We're witches, we're Halliwells, and one way or another, it is our job to protect the innocent."

* * *

"So… the fact that you're standing out in the open on the top of the Golden Gate Bridge while Wyatt and the entire demonic Underworld hunts for the four of us… yeah, that worries me," Chris said casually as he appeared next to Ria in a sparkle of white and blue.

Ria looked at him for a moment, then let her gaze wander past his head and out towards the sunset. She absently tucked a strand of dark hair behind on ear and sighed. It was dangerous to be here, out in the open, but she didn't really care.

"Ria?" Chris pressed, taking a seat next to her. He'd been surprised when he'd learned from Adam that Ria had orbed away because she wanted to be alone. He doubted their argument from the afternoon could have upset her that much, but she was still clearly worried about something, and he wanted to help. He remembered all to well Adam's harsh and accusatory words from before, back when they were still on the island, when Valhalla was safe, when he had yet to learn that his father had been killed.

_So where are you, Chris? Are you going to be helping me, or are you going to be wallowing in self-pity while the few remaining members of your family fall apart?_

She looked at him again. "I don't want to fight a war."

"Why not?" Chris asked. He could think of plenty of reasons she wouldn't want to do this, not the least of which the was that the other side would be lead by Wyatt, and he was still family, no matter what anyone else said. But he could see something else in Ria's eyes, and he wished he knew exactly what it was.

"Mathew Carlson."

"Who?" Chris asked. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.

Ria ran a hand through her hair. "In the battle that you… didn't join… he was one of the men leading the Wyatt's army." She swallowed uncomfortably, and Chris reached out, about to place a hand on her shoulder. But he stopped part way as she continued, "I killed him."

Chris hadn't been at the battle. Instead, he'd been locked in a cage, and that left him with no idea why she would be so upset about this. From what he had heard, the fighting had been uncontrollable and caused disaster for many. Ria had stopped an enemy, probably saved some innocents.

"And I know what you're going to say," Ria said, giving Chris a knowing stare. "He was evil. He would have killed us. He probably killed a lot of our allies. But…" She trailed off.

"But what?" Chris pressed, this time letting his hand fall onto her shoulder. "Ria, tell me. I can help."

"But he was human," she answered finally, her words choked as though she had to force them out. "Did you know he had a daughter? Her name was Anna." She closed her eyes, remembering that photograph, blood smeared across the edges, as it fell from her loose fingers and fluttered to the ground. She knew what it was like to lose a parent, and it had been a horrifying realization to recognize that she had just inflicted that on another child.

Chris didn't say anything, just squeezed her shoulder a little tighter. He recognized the name now, knew it was the same man that Wyatt had sent after Daryl.

"And I killed her father," Ria continued in barely a whisper. "Her human father."

"He was evil," Chris said forcefully, as though somehow just saying that would change what had happened, would bring Ria the peace of mind she was looking for.

But Ria just shrugged off his hand and moved away from him, rising slowly to her feet. "I know he was evil. I know that he has killed countless numbers of our allies. I know that if I hadn't stopped him then, he would kill others." She knew that this war would be fought with mortals as well, not just demons and dark-lighters, and it was only a matter of time before she would be forced to take another human life. That's what war did, it tore people apart, both inside and out.

And she could curse Wyatt for creating this mess, or refuse to fight this battle like she and Prue so desperately wanted, but she knew that would not happen. Like Chris had said, she was a witch, the daughter of a Charmed One, and it was her job to protect the innocent.

And yet…

"But… I killed him," she said, looking back at Chris. And this was the crux of the matter, this was what was eating at her soul, this was exactly why she was terrified to face the new future they were walking directly into, this future that would be unlike anything she had ever experienced, anything she knew how to deal with, how to survive. "I watched the blood… his blood… spill onto my hands."

"Ria," Chris murmured.

She met his gaze, eyes filled with tears. Mathew Carlson wasn't just a faceless enemy any more, some demon or warlock who could be easily forgotten. Not now, not after she'd seen the photograph of his cheerfully smiling daughter.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and said quietly, "I just… I just wish I didn't know his daughter's name was Anna."

* * *

Next Chapter: The Vision

Due: Sun 5/25


	36. The Vision

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This has dialogue taken from _Prince Charmed_, and it doesn't belong to me. It also has a scene from _The Lost Future_. It isn't necessary to have read the story to understand this one, but it does help to know some of it in this chapter.

But for anyone who hasn't read that story… in _The Lost Future _timeline, Paige marries Kyle (not Richard) and has twins Mel and Pen (not Adam and Ria). When Chris goes back in time to save Wyatt, he unknowingly erases two of his cousins.

Also, note the time change in the beginning of the chapter. This takes place several months after the last chapter.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Vision

"_Piper, what are you doing?" Paige asked, somewhat annoyed, as she bounced a two-month-old Adam in her arms and followed her eldest sister around the house._

"_Do you want demons to attack?" Piper snapped, giving Paige a heated glare as she dropped the last crystal into its place by the door. "I just want to make sure that everything is perfect for Chris' birthday." She paused, a smile on her face, and shook her head. "I can't believe he's already nine."_

"_Okay… of course I don't want demons to attack at the party, but don't you think this might be overdoing it a little?" Paige suggested, shifting Adam in her arms. He had started to wail, his little hands clenched into tiny fists, his face completely red. Paige cooed at him for a moment, then looked at Piper. "I mean… crystals, spells, and potions? Are you expecting trouble?"_

_Piper shook her head and sank slowly into a seat on the sofa, staring at the large glass doors of the sunroom. "It's just… have you ever noticed how bad things seem to happen on Chris' birthday? Demons always attack… and that's when Wyatt was kidnapped also. When Chris was born."_

"_Oh, sweetie," Paige said, taking a seat next to her sister. "Demons attack all the time. It's not just Chris' birthday. It's all our birthdays. I mean, remember how that warlock almost burned the Manor down last year on Ria's birthday and we had to call the fire department?"_

_Piper nodded. "Yeah, I guess…" She glanced at Adam. "He stopped crying."_

"_Yeah," Paige murmured, smiling at her baby son._

"_You keep him close at all times," Piper said seriously, rising to her feet and starting to bustle about the room again. "Demons will want him to, and what happened to Wyatt… I don't want it to happen to anyone else."_

"You know, if you keep waking up in the middle of the night screaming about kidnappings and demons, none of us are going to get out beauty sleep," Ria remarked as she flipped the light on and stepped into Adam's room. The younger of the two witch-lighters was sitting on his bed, covers pushed to the floor, face pale, eyes wide with terror. He relaxed slightly when he saw Ria.

"Sorry. I just… another dream. Bad dream."

She took a seat next to him on the bed. "Tell me about it?"

"It's like all the others," Adam replied softly. "Our parents talking about something… and then someone, usually Aunt Piper or Uncle Leo, mentions about Wyatt getting kidnapped… and I see a dark cave, and feel all this fear and then…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"You wake up screaming," Ria finished for him.

"Yeah," Adam answered. "I just… I wish I knew what these dreams meant." He gave Ria a look. "Do you know if Wyatt was kidnapped as a child?"

"I heard Uncle Leo mention it once to Uncle Jason," Ria said, her voice trembling as she formed the names of those who were no longer alive. "But I don't know any of the details."

"These dreams mean something," Adam said, lying back on the mattress and resting his head on the pillows. "I know they do. I just… I just have no idea what it is."

Chris leaned his back against the wall and extended his feet across the hallway floor, listening to the sounds of Ria and Adam's voices floating through the partially open door. He'd taken to sitting outside Adam's room at night, waiting for the telltale signs of a nightmare to strike. They had no idea what any of this meant, but Ria was starting to panic as they all saw the heavy toll it was taking on their youngest cousin. Adam was barely able to eat or sleep, and seemed to wander around the safe-house in a daze.

It had been several months since their life had taken this strange turn. Since his father and Freya's deaths, since the fall of Valhalla. Life had changed drastically, and he knew everyone needed to be at the top of his game to survive it. Unless Adam could resolve this issue and move past it, and quickly, he was going to be an easy target for Wyatt's demons.

The sound of footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up in time to see Myst turn the corner of the hallway and appear in front of him. Wordlessly, she took a seat next to him, pulling her knees into her chest. In the dim light, he could see the worry on her features, the way her eyes kept darting towards the slightly open door.

He reached out and interlaced his fingers through her hand. She offered him a tentative smile in return.

Since the fall of Valhalla, the Resistance had existed as nothing more than a few safe-houses in different sectors of the city. The few scattered remnants of the Resistance lived in these safe-houses, venturing out into the dangerous city only to save any witches or mortals from the frequent demon attacks. It was a loose confederation of people, and the safety they could offer was limited.

In many ways, Wyatt had already won.

Chris glanced over at the door again, then looked at Myst. "Where are we on creating a new sanctuary?" They'd tried, on more than once occasion, to create other places to hide people, whether it be by protective barriers or glamour spells and potions. The latest idea had been to build another place like Valhalla and cloak its presence, hopefully keeping it secret from Wyatt.

"We're still working on it," she answered softly. "But Wyatt is powerful, and…" She trailed off, shaking her head. She didn't need to finish the sentence because Chris understood. Wyatt's powers made it difficult to hide anything from him. He'd found his way into Valhalla, and it was only a matter of time before he decimated any sanctuary they tried to create.

"Then we just need to work harder, create more powerful barriers," Chris said staunchly. It wasn't that simple, as he well knew, but he wasn't about to give up on anything.

"Yeah…" Myst hesitated, then ventured diffidently, "What about David's idea?"

Chris closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. David. The man, despite his devotion to protecting Ria and Adam, which Chris knew came from a long-standing devotion to the now-deceased Lila and everything she had care about, was beginning to grate on the brunette witch-lighter's nerves. He had suggested, more than once, that the only way to protect everyone was to stop the threat… Wyatt.

"None of us have the power to stop Wyatt," Chris said finally. "Not even me."

"It's not the power you lack," Myst answered bluntly. "It's the determination."

"He's my brother!" Chris retorted fiercely. "I can't… I just can't…" He rose to his feet and looked away, feeling both defiant and guilty.

"But Chris, you haven't even considered the possibility of stripping his powers," Myst argued, standing as well. "That could work."

Chris rolled his eyes. "The only way to do that would require getting close enough to Wyatt to throw a potion and cast a spell. And he would kill anyone who tried that before they got the chance to finish."

"Even you?" Myst murmured, taking his hand again. "Would he kill even you?"

Before Chris had the chance to answer, however, Ria stepped out of the room and glanced at the two of them with a heavy expression on her face. "He went back to sleep."

"What was the dream?" Myst asked in concern.

"Same as usual," Ria answered. "I don't know… I wish we could ask the Elders about it."

Chris gave a bitter laugh and replied, "The Elders closed themselves off to us a long time ago, remember? They abandoned us and the entire world, all the people they were meant to protect, the minute they realized Wyatt could be a threat."

"Yes, well… being angry at them could be valid," Ria conceded with a nod, "but it doesn't help Adam." She turned back towards her own room, intent on getting a few more hours of sleep before morning.

After a moment of silence, Myst whispered to Chris, "You know as well as I do that if Wyatt would so willingly kill you, he isn't your brother anymore." She didn't wait for Chris to respond, but simply leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, then walked away.

* * *

"…_and then he tried to orb a book to himself, and it hit him in the eye," Paige finished the story as she watched Richard carefully inspecting his son. "It's just a little bruise, Richard. Relax."_

_Richard looked up, dark eyes widening at her comment. "Relax? He practically has a black eye!"_

"_You're over reacting," Piper said, walking into the sunroom and handing Richard a glass of orange juice and a plate of cookies. "Stop worrying. Start eating."_

"_My sister, the therapist," Paige murmured sarcastically. Stretching, she rose to her feet while lifting the one-year-old Adam into her arms. _

_Chris, ten years old, came running into the sunroom, slipping and sliding as his socks met the slick wooden floorboards. His brown hair fell in a graceful mess over his grinning eyes as he shrieked, "Aunt Paige! Uncle Richard!"_

_Richard enveloped his nephew in a hug and said with an answering grin, "Heyya, little man."_

"_Where's Leo?" Paige asked, glancing over at Piper and shifting Adam into a more comfortable position on her hip. The little boy buried his head sleepily in her shoulder._

_The eldest Charmed One frowned at the question, her eyebrows coming together as worry lines appeared on her forehead. "The demon that attacked yesterday… the Elders think he's after Wyatt. Leo went back up to talk to them." She paused, then added, "Whenever any demon is after Wyatt, you know, we have to consider the possibility that it is…"_

"_Related to when he was kidnapped the day Chris was born?" Paige answered. She nodded slowly as Piper inhaled and exhaled with an air of forced calm. Neither said anything else, but the silence was tense and uneasy._

"Maybe it has something to do with premonitions?" Prue suggested as she leaned against the hallway door and listened to Ria and Chris talk to Adam. "You know, so far I'm the only one with that power in my generation. Maybe he got it too."

David nodded gloomily. He was clearly frustrated at standing there so helpless, unable to prevent Adam from waking up in terror, crying out for help. "I guess. But didn't Adam say they were more like memories?"

"Yeah, the beginning," Prue agreed. "But the ends of them, when he's alone in some dark cave…" She shrugged and sank to the floor. "I don't know how much longer he can keep doing this before it destroys him. But it just… it doesn't make any sense."

"Do you think it could be a curse of some sort?" David asked as he too took a seat on the ground.

"Maybe," Prue replied, mulling over the idea. "I don't know much about curses."

David glanced over at the room again. The door was shut, but he could still hear the voices floating through the heavy wood, indistinct but recognizable. Adam was saying something, and he sounded resigned, but Ria's answer was tense and filled with concern.

"She's freaking out," Prue murmured. "Ria… she's freaking out because she doesn't know how to stop this."

"Yeah, well… she's not the only one," David answered quietly. He ran a hand through his dark hair and blinked a few times, lost in thought. He was the oldest of them, the adult. Granted, Prue was eighteen and Chris just barely twenty-three, but he was still their elder and should have been strong enough to fix these problems, to offer guidance and hope. Instead, he was just as lost as the rest of them.

Prue nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

"I've been gone most of the week," David said. "Has he been having nightmares every night?"

"Just about," Prue answered. Then she raised unemotional eyes towards him and asked, "Where were you, anyway? Chris said he wasn't sure, you'd blocked yourself."

"Of course," David answered. "Even with the ability to transport myself places, I can risk being sensed by Wyatt or his demons." He looked down at his hands. "I was working with a few others… Grishom and this new guy, Tristan. We were trying to get a clan of witches to safety before…" He paused, shaking his head, his voice filled with emotion as he choked out, "We didn't get all of them. We lost some when the demons ambushed us."

"I'm sorry," Prue said, and meant it.

The door opened then, and Ria stepped out into the hallway. She closed the door behind her and waited a moment, before turning and slamming her fist into the wall. "Damn it!" The two words tore from her throat as tears burned in the backs of her eyes.

Prue stood up quickly and reached out to gently rest a hand on her cousin's shoulder. "We're going to figure this out," she promised. "We're going to fix it."

"How?" Ria asked, pushing a few strands of hair out of her eyes. "How are we going to fix it? We don't even know what's wrong. We don't know why this is happening to him!"

"Is Chris still in there?" David asked, gesturing with one hand towards the room.

Ria nodded wordlessly, then finally said, "He's going to stay and keep an eye on Adam for a while. Just in case." She exhaled slowly, then said, "He says he keeps seeing Mom and Dad… so alive. The dreams are so real, so vivid, that it's like he can reach out and touch them, practically, and feel the heat from their skin. And when he wakes up and remembers that they're not…" She met David's gaze slowly, painfully. "He says it's like losing them all over again."

"Ria, listen to me," David said with such conviction in his voice that Prue and Ria found themselves believing him against all odds. "We are going to fix this. We are going to end it. _I promise_."

* * *

_Chris stumbled backwards, fear and pain playing across his features as the three angry Charmed Ones approached him with distrust and fury in their eyes._

"_Listen to me, what are you doing?" Chris asked, his voice higher than usual._

"_The pheromones wore off," Phoebe said, her voice tightly laced with anger._

"_Right after they took my son!" Piper finished. The anger in her face was mingled with fear._

"_You don't seriously believe this is my fault, do you?" Chris asked, looking from Piper to Phoebe and back again. Then he switched his gaze to Paige just as she answered his question._

"_Oh, right, so it's just a big coincidence we all fell under Mr. Right's spell?"_

"_And suddenly we all wanted to bind Wyatt's powers?" Phoebe added._

"_You see, Chris," said a strange man standing behind them, "what they really want is for you…"_

_Paige spun to face him. "For you to leave."_

_The man paused, then nodded abashedly. "I knew that." And he turned and left the room._

_Chris watched him go for a moment, then turned to Leo with a pleading look on his face. "This is crazy. Leo, tell them."_

"_Tell them what, Chris? I'm wondering the same thing myself," Leo replied, refusing to backup the desperate witch-lighter. He folded his arms over his chest, waiting._

"_Okay," Chris said finally, caving as he seemed to realize there was no way out of this. "So what if I did? I was only trying to _protect_ Wyatt."_

"Okay," Adam said as he took a seat next to Ria on the sofa and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "This one was just weird."

"Was it different from the others?" Chris asked, leaning forward interestedly. He was sitting across from Ria and Adam, and Prue was perched on the edge of her chair to his left. The four of them were sitting in the common room of the safe-house, slightly apart from the other witches who were currently using it as a hide-out.

"Yeah,' Adam answered. "It really was." He glanced at Chris, and said, "You were in it. You… you looked kind of like you do now. Like it happened recently, or will happen in the near future. But…" He trailed off, then said hesitantly, "You were talking to Mom and Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Piper. And Uncle Leo. And there was someone else there, some guy I didn't recognize."

"Did I summon them?" Chris asked, wondering if somehow he was going to have access to the spirits that he had been unable to summon for so long.

"No." Adam swallowed uneasily. "I… uh… they were alive. And… younger. Like… I don't know, like before we were born? But it was like they didn't know who you were. They were mad at you. You'd done something to them, and they were angry, and… you said you were there to protect Wyatt."

Chris and Prue exchanged a confused look, then Chris said, "Adam, none of that is possible. Are you sure this wasn't just a dream? Separate from the nightmares you've been having?"

"No… it ended the same way the others did. I was in that dark place, and scared, and…" He gave Chris a hard look, then added as a thin smile quirked the corner of his lips. "And you know not to say anything is impossible, Chris. Not with magic to help us."

"Or harm us," Ria added grumpily.

"Do you think it is supposed to tell us something?" Prue asked, leaning back in her chair.

"But why would Chris be protecting Wyatt? Wyatt doesn't need protecting," Ria pointed out, rolling her eyes as she mentioned her eldest cousin's name. It took quite a bit of effort not to spit out his name, not to think of him as no longer family. She knew he was still family, at least to Chris. She wished she could look past what he had done and forgive his sins, but she just couldn't.

Wyatt Halliwell, her cousin, her family, no longer existed.

"I don't know," Adam murmured, feeling suddenly far too exhausted to be having this conversation. Still, he knew there was something important in what he had seen, some clue that would point them towards an important discovery. He didn't believe that these dreams were just dreams. They were signs, visions. Magic was trying to tell him something, and magic was never something to be ignored.

"What exactly had I done to the Charmed Ones?" Chris asked finally.

Adam glanced at Chris, raising an eyebrow at hearing Chris refer to his mother and aunts by their magical title. Still, he knew how hard thinking about them was for everyone, including Chris. It would have been easier for him as well if he could have somehow separated the women he had seen in his dreams from the mother and aunts he had known for the first six years of his life. Seeing them again… so alive… it just _hurt_.

"You… I don't know. I think you tried to get them to bind Wyatt's powers?"

Chris and Prue both looked up sharply at that. "It might take the power of three to bind Wyatt's powers," Prue said quietly, thoughtfully. She gave Adam a contemplative stare and added, "Maybe if we could somehow reconstitute the power of three…"

"How? We can't summon Mom and the Aunts," Ria cut in coolly. "The Elders aren't going to let us."

"What if it is the only way to save the world?" Chris countered.

"It still wouldn't be enough," Ria answered. "They're dead, which means they don't have their Charmed Powers anymore. They're not Charmed, and nothing short of bringing them back to life is going to change that."

"Then what exactly was Adam's vision telling us?" Chris snapped. "It's practically driving him insane, it must be doing it for a reason!"

"I don't know," Ria answered, her expression falling as she looked at Adam's weary face.

But Adam looked at her with a smile, slightly strained but still there, and said, "It's telling us not to give up. It's telling us there is a way to fix this. We just need to find it."

"How?" Prue asked. "That dream gave us nothing to go on except things that are never going to happen."

"Don't you believe this can be fixed?" Adam murmured.

Prue looked at him, her eyes guarded, her expression wary. Chris and Ria were also looking at her, waiting for her answer, and she could feel the tension rising every moment she didn't answer. She wanted to say something reassuring, something about how they could fix every problem, but the words wouldn't come. They had been through so much in their short lives, and she knew that, if nothing else, her cousins deserved honestly.

"I don't know," she said finally.

Adam closed his eyes and didn't respond. Chris looked a little annoyed and incredibly upset, but he just shrugged as though to accept her right to an opinion. It was Ria's answer that surprised her.

"Yeah… I'm not so sure either," she replied.

* * *

_The dining room in the Halliwell Manor was packed. Piper and Leo were sitting at one end of the table, with Chris between them, and Wyatt a few chair further down. Paige was sitting across from Wyatt, flanked on either side by two girls, undoubtedly twins. Phoebe sat next to one of the twins, with Prue at her side. _

"_Piper, can you pass the lasagna?" Paige asked as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. Her oldest sister reached for the lasagna and carefully passed it along the length of the dining room table._

"_Chris, these rolls are delicious," Leo complimented as he bit into a wheat roll._

"_Yeah… easy for you to say, Dad," Wyatt snapped irritably, glaring at Chris. "You didn't end up with half the batter in your hair."_

_Piper and Paige laughed out right at that, and Chris defended himself, "It was just the eggs."_

_One of the twins bit into a carrot and said helpfully, "Besides, Wy, the eggs probably looked better in your hair than in any of ours because your blonde so it matches with the yellow of the yolk."_

_Wyatt threw a celery stick at her, but the other twin redirected it back at Wyatt with her telekinesis._

"_Hey, no fair, you're double-teaming me!" Wyatt exclained._

"_Oh, is the great Twice Blessed afraid of two middle school girls?" Prue mocked. Wyatt glared at her, and Phoebe struggled to keep from laughing._

"_A family dinner was a good idea, wasn't it?" Piper commented during a lull in the conversation, pleased with herself._

"_Yes, it was," Leo hurried to agree._

"_It's nice to know that despite everything we can still be a family," Prue agreed. She glanced hurriedly at Chris and amended, "Or, at least, try to be a family."_

"_We're always family, even if we hate each other," the second twin announced, taking a sip of her water. "Some things never change."_

"_Demon!"_

_Wyatt was out of his chair and tackling Phoebe out of the direction of a fireball. The demon in question quickly conjured another fireball, but Piper blew him up with a casual flick of her hands. The entire family turned to see where the first fireball had gone, and Piper groaned as she noted that it had collided with the Grandfather clock._

"_How many times are we going to have to get that thing fixed?" she bemoaned as she looked at the scorched wood._

"_You're right, Mel," Wyatt said to the second twin as he helped Phoebe to her feet. "Some things do never change."_

"_That wasn't what I had in mind," Mel retorted, rolling her eyes._

Adam opened his eyes and lay awake in the bed. The dream hadn't ended the way the others had, not with fear and a cave. Not with the sense of danger or betrayal. Instead, it had been filled with the feeling of contentment, of happiness. It was bittersweet, like something was missing, but still… there was a feeling of hope, that everything could somehow work out as long as they stayed together.

As a family.

He paused as he thought of the two twins. He didn't know who they were, or why he and Ria hadn't been in the dream. And although he had some feeling that if he ever did learn the answer, he wasn't going to like it, it didn't really seem important. The only thing that mattered was that he felt… hopeful.

A feeling they hadn't felt in a very long time.

He got out of bed and plodded to the door. Pushing it open, he stared at the empty hallway for a moment, then walked silently to his sister's room. Pushing open the door, he flicked on the light and watched as she shot up in bed, eyes darting around in a panic.

"Adam? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Adam said. "I just… I had a dream. A good dream. A vision. And… I think… I think we're going to fix this. Somehow. It _can _be fixed."

* * *

Next Chapter: Anger and Pride

Due: Thurs 5/29


	37. Anger and Pride

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay, I was out of the country, and therefore away from Internet, for a few weeks.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Anger and Pride

It is strange, to look back on it all now. I think, even as I was doing everything, I still never really comprehended just how much of a difference I would make. I wanted to create a world that was safe and peaceful, and for the most part, I did. But is wasn't until much later, until after I had already come so far, that I took a moment to look back and understand.

The demons were always a problem. Even though Zankou was gone and the major threat of rebellion removed, there were still demonic factions intent on destroying me. It is laughable now, that they ever thought they could do that. But then, it consumed my mind, left me with worry and doubt and the firm belief that I always had to stay one step ahead of them.

Until I realized that, although I was concerned about these demonic factions, they were even more afraid of me.

* * *

"Are you ready to give the speech, sir?"

The new President of the United States turned and looked at his aide with an appraising eye. "You disagree with my methods, don't you?" he said quietly. The aide flushed a dark crimson red and looked away, but the President merely smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "That's alright. You're entitled to your own opinion. Besides, it is certainly helpful to have people around me who will force me to defend my choices. Make sure that I am doing what is best for the country, and not what is best for me."

The aide nodded uncomfortably and scurried from the Oval Office, leaving the President alone.

Or, rather, apparently alone.

"What is best for the country, and not what is best for me?" came a mocking tone as Wyatt threw off his invisibility and appeared in the room. "Do you really expect people to believe that?"

The President smiled grimly. "People will believe exactly what they want to believe. Nothing more, and nothing less. And right now, this country wants safety."

"And you can give that to them?" Wyatt demanded, blue eyes narrowed in a questioning stare.

The President raised on eyebrow. "You would not have gone to all the trouble of ensuring that I was elected to replace my unfortunate predecessor if you did not believe that I was capable of caring through on my promises. Why the doubt now?"

"I think I need hardly remind you that you are only in this office because of me," Wyatt snapped, "and I could just as easily take it all away."

"But why would you?" the President challenged. "I am giving you exactly what you wanted, and I am handing it to you on a silver platter. I will spin an illusion of safety that will bring every human in this country into the palm of my hand. And you will be free to do whatever it is you please."

"You make a good businessman," Wyatt said with a begrudging type of respect.

The President laughed darkly, cynically. "That's all politics is, Wyatt Halliwell. Business. You sell yourself and your ideas like they are consumer products. You reap the benefits and cut your losses and try to stay on top." His eyes glittered with a calculating insight. "And I've reached the top. I'm not going anywhere, and I know that means I need to fulfill those promises I made. Trust me, I'll give you exactly what you want."

"I'm counting on it," Wyatt said darkly.

The President walked past the young witch-lighter and out of the office. His staff was gathered in the hallway, waiting for him. They looked up as one, and he read the emotions on their faces. He saw apprehension, worry, distrust, excitement, and hope. Some were against his plan, he knew that. Quite a bit of the country was against his plan as well. But they didn't know, didn't understand that he was only following orders from someone else. He had to make this look like his idea, his plan, or else he would never be able to sell it.

This was how he had risen to the top, and this was how he was going to dig his heels into the ground and stay there. Wyatt Halliwell was the only power in this world worth taking notice of, and he would use that to hsi advantage. Wyatt had made it perfectly clear that he didn't particularly care what the President did with the rest of his four or eight years in office, as long as he gave this one speech and followed through on his promises now. So he'd do that, and then he'd have power... And with Wyatt keeping a magical eye on him, he doubted he'd have much in the way of enemies either.

The arrangement would benefit both of them.

He rubbed his hands together. "Let's do this."

He knew Wyatt was following, hidden by some magic, watching him the entire time. He could feel those blue eyes burning into his back, but he ignored the sensation and allowed himself a small smile as he stepped out into the Rose Garden and saw all the people lined up between the rows of flowers, ready to hear his words.

He'd give them something to remember.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he heard his press secretary announce in a reedy tone, "may I present the President of the United States of America."

He walked up onto the platform and placed his hands on either side of the podium, smiling easily. He'd long since perfected speech-giving, and a wave of confidence burst through him. This would be a piece of cake.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them, letting his gaze roam over the different faces turned towards him. "I know many of you have come here to hear only one issue, one concern. And so I will address only that one issue today. I speak, of course, of the problem we all face every morning when we rise and every night when we go to bed. It is the only thing we really think about, the only fear that eats away at us. I am referring to the new supernatural creatures that have made themselves known."

A hiss rose from the crowd, followed by a series of men and women stomping their boots and shouting curses. He held up his hands for silence.

"We have tried exterminating them. We have sent witch hunters. We have sent the Army. We have lost men and women in this battle, good people who sacrificed their lives to protect us. So far, all those sacrifices have been in vain. The fighting continues, and we are losing."

The response from the crowd was not only angry, it was tinged with disgust for the blatant truths he had uttered. No one wanted to admit that they were losing to something they didn't understand, something out of fairy tales and myths. But they had to face the facts, it was the only way to overcome the fear and move towards a more productive solution.

"But today, I offer a different path, a new solution. And end to this uncontrollable fighting." The simmering fury faded as all eyes focused on him, waiting for his next words. This was the tricky part, he knew. This would make or break his career, this would be the final detail that allowed him to carry through on his promise… or it would end him.

He took a slow breath.

"Once upon a time, we were afraid of Germany and Hitler. Of the Soviet Union. Of Communism. Of Islamic Fundamentalism. Do you remember those times?" He paused to emphasize his comment, then continued strongly, "But were all Germans members of the Nazi party? Were all Russians hell-bent on the destruction of America? Were all communists determine to take over the world? Were all Muslims terrorists?" Again, the slight pause, and then, "No! They were not! So tell me, do you believe that all supernatural beings are evil?"

He stepped back at the onslaught of response, the cries and shouts, the screaming. This was not the speech the audience had expected, and they felt betrayed by this new turn of events.

Well, let them feel betrayed. He would soon change their minds.

"We can live in peace and harmony," the President continued. "We can live side-by-side. We can live in the prosperity that this nation offers to all its people."

"They're not even human!" a cry went up from the crowd.

"They are not Americans. They are… abominations," came another retort.

"There was a time," the President replied evenly, his eyes sweeping the crowd, "when people believed the same about anyone with dark skin."

A complete silence met his words, and he gave a grim smile of triumph.

"You want to feel safe? I do too." He raised a hand, and a probe drifted towards him like a giant metallic bug. "This is a probe," he announced. "It can scan people and determine if they are witches." A murmur rose from in front of him, and he gestured with one hand, pointing as the probe shot a bright light from one end. The laser casually roamed the face of one of the President's staff, and then turned to another, and another, and another.

He took another breath.

"In this country, anyone who carries a weapon must have a permit. Must be registered. I propose to do the same for magical beings. After all, they have their own types of weapons, and we must be protected from that. These probes will travel through the city and find witches. If any identified supernatural being is not registered, he or she will be arrested." He paused again, then added ironically, "And don't worry, we will create cells that can hold such law-breakers."

A gentle laugh, no louder than a whisper, raced through the crowd at his light attempt at humor.

"What of the evil ones?" a voice called out, a question that drew murmurs of agreement. "How will we protect ourselves against them and their powers?"

The President inclined his head, indicating that he understood the validity of that concern. However, the answer rolled easily off the tip of his tongue. "We have guns. We have police. We have weapons of our own. And we will gain allies, powerful allies. The good supernatural beings can use their powers to protect us. Because I will not lie to you, there are evil magical creatures out there, and we _will_ fight them."

That line brought a few cheers.

"But we must remember," the President continued, "that we cannot judge everyone based simply on rumors, on first impressions, or on the group to which they belong. Rather, we must judge each individual based on his or her actions. This system of probes will ensure that we are kept safe from the criminal aspects of the supernatural community. But we cannot condemn them all for actions perpetrated by only a few. What I want is an end to all this fighting. What I want is a new order in this country. One that accepts these people for who and what they are. We have always committed ourselves to living in peace and harmony with others not like us. Those are the beliefs this country is founded on, and it is what has made us a great nation. Should we turn our backs on it now?"

He glanced at the probe as it continued to flit about, scanning everyone. He doubted that he would ever have enough manpower to arrest any magical creature. But he also knew that those probes would transmit their scans back to Wyatt, and Wyatt would deal with the problems that arose. After all, the so-called Wielder of Excalibur was the one who had invented such machines, and he'd done it solely so that he could keep an eye on his magical domain.

But it didn't matter if he provided actual safety, or merely an illusion. Let the people believe themselves protected, and he would have the power to do whatever he wanted while in office.

He felt the bright blue eyes of Wyatt Halliwell piercing him in the back, the heat of their gaze rising with intensity, and he smiled.

* * *

Two days later, the first probe transmitted something worth seeing.

A witch. By the looks of it, she wasn't particularly powerful. She was scanned while coming out of a grocery store, and apprehended by Wyatt's demonic guards only moments later, as she unlocked the door to her car and attempted to drive home. She was brought before Wyatt.

The entire process took perhaps two minutes, if that.

"What's your name?" Wyatt asked, eyeing the young woman carefully. She was short, only about five feet tall. Her hair was a dirty blonde, and her eyes were a matching light brown. She was shaking with fear as she stared up at Wyatt, and he smirked slightly, knowing she could read his aura, sense his power.

"Monica." She hesitated, then added, "Monica Parker."

"Do you know that all witches must be registered, Monica Parker?" Wyatt asked dryly. She was younger than him by a few years, maybe only nineteen or twenty.

"I… I didn't," she stammered.

"You're a bad liar, Monica," Wyatt retorted. Around him, his demons were grinning like fools, shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. He knew they were waiting for him to do something. They expected Monica to be thrown in the dungeons or killed.

"I was… I couldn't," Monica said, her voice breaking in a sob. "He would have…" She stopped suddenly, one hand rising to her mouth as though she hoped she could swallow the words she had uttered. She knew, in that moment, she'd said far too much.

"Who is he?" Wyatt asked, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Monica bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't… I don't know. He… He's old. He has gray hair. I… I see things around him. Scary things." She looked down at the floor, her eyes filling with tears. "That sounds crazy, doesn't it?"

Wyatt frowned. "You were shopping when we found you. You had bought herbs, plants. Were you going to make a potion?"

"I just… I wanted to get rid of him."

"With a potion?"

She nodded miserably. "I… He said if I got registered… you'd kill me. Or mind control me. I saw… I saw the future, what he said would happen. I was killing… my family died to… they…. I didn't want to, but I…" She was sobbing suddenly, tears streaming down her cheeks, body shaking.

Wyatt was at her side in a moment, his entire expression changed. His eyes were hard as ice, chipped and blue, and his mouth was set in a thin line. "Monica," he said harshly, and she jerked her head up and looked at him, "tell me more about this man. Did he ever tell you his name?"

Monica swallowed uneasily. "I don't remember what it was, though. I think he mentioned it once."

Wyatt rocked back on his heels. "And he made you see scary things? Was he a demon?"

"I'm not sure. He appeared and disappeared really suddenly, so I thought he was. But I don't know. I couldn't identify him."

"Monica, I want to help you," Wyatt said, and his voice melted into a gently soothing tone. "I think I might know who this is. I can find him and stop him. I can keep him from hurting you anymore. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

She looked at him, brown eyes wide with wonder. "I… I guess."

"Good." Wyatt placed his hand on the side of her head, his fingers barely brushing against her hair. "This is going to feel a little strange, but I promise it won't hurt." And with that, he closed his eyes and willed his power to look inside her head and pick out the picture of interest.

Monica stiffened, but then relaxed. Wyatt dropped his hand and turned away.

"Did you… did you see him?" Monica asked breathlessly.

"I did," Wyatt said, and his tone was filled with such unadulterated hatred that every being in the room took an involuntary step backwards, away from him. He spun around. "My family vanquished him a few times over the years, but he keeps finding a way to come back. Not this time. This time…" A cruel smile lit his lips. "You're going to help me, Monica. And this time, we're going to teach the Demon of Fear a lesson or two about his own terrors."

She didn't really have much of a choice but to agree with his plan, and so, somehow, Monica found herself returning to her own home with a sense of nervous unease. It was silent, the still air disturbing nothing. A gentle breeze pulled at the curtains as she closed the door behind her, and she inhaled sharply and spun around, searching the empty space for any sign of movement.

Nothing.

She knew she was being paranoid. But with good reason. Every time she had let her guard down, something had happened. And although Wyatt had promised that no harm would come to her, she still couldn't quite believe that he had let her go free… or that he would really be able to protect her from her demonic stalker.

She mused over her interaction with Wyatt for a moment, thinking. He had certainly not been what she had expected, although she supposed that was because most of her expectations had been tinged by fear created by the demon. Still, she could sense the power simmering under the surface, and the rage that was so omnipresent it threatened to break from him at any moment.

She looked around the house again, but saw nothing.

She exhaled, a measured breath, and walked into the kitchen. She wondered if Wyatt was watching her, even now. She wondered what would happen to her after the demon was vanquished. There were a lot of unknown variables in this equation, and she was not sure she liked leaving so much up for fate to decide.

Fate had not been kind to her, or to anyone in her family.

She heard a rustle, a single footstep, the slow intake of another's breathing. She didn't turn around, but placed her hands on the tile countertop to steady herself and waited for another sound.

"It's all going to end, isn't it?" said a voice. It sounded like her own, and for a moment she thought perhaps it was coming from her own lips. She struggled to remember that these weren't her words, but someone else's implanted in her mind. Yet no matter how hard she fought, she couldn't stop the vision from appearing before her eyes.

_She raised one hand, summoning an energy ball, a power she didn't even know she had. In front of her, on the ground, tears streaming down her face, was a young girl she'd never seen before. Behind the girl were two adults, probably her parents. The mother was on her knees, blood seeping from a wound on her chest. The father was trying his best to pull his wife and daughter back to their feet, but they remained on the floor._

"_Any last words, precious?" her voice was hoarse and cold, but undeniably hers._

"_Please… don't hurt them," the man begged, eyes widening with horror as he stared at the energy ball in her hand. "Please… take me instead."_

"_I think there will be enough time to take all of you," she answered mockingly, pausing only a moment before hurtling the energy ball._

"_Don't you see what will happen?" a voice, not quite hers, whispered in her ear. "It's inevitable. You will become a monster, just like the woman who killed your parents. You will destroy…"_

_She shook her head. "No…" In vain, she tried to push away the thoughts that filled her mind, the fury and anger and fear. "No, stop. Please."_

"_Please. Your father begged, didn't he? He begged for them to spare you and your mother. You survived, but your parents… They were not as fortunate." The voice grew in volume, its tone filled with malicious glee. "You'll become the person you despise most." _

And then the vision was gone. Monica spun around to see Barbus, Demon of Fear, consumed in flames that burned his skin but did not destroy him. He was screaming, his eyes open with agony, his face twisted with pain.

Standing directly behind him was Wyatt, one hand extended casually, watching in satisfaction as the flames continued to fill the air, sending sparks floating towards the ceiling.

Monica turned and ran from the room.

She stumbled to her knees, her body shaking with horror at what she had seen. Barbus' vision had left her unnerved, and his words filled with nameless dread. Was it really inevitable? Would she become the same monster that had killed her own parents? But even more than that, she was terrified of what she had seen flickering through Wyatt's blue eyes as he attacked Barbus. It was cruel and cold and almost utterly inhuman.

She closed her eyes, swallowing nervously, her throat suddenly dry. After a moment, she pushed herself to her feet and walked quickly from her house, pausing only briefly on the steps to glance behind her as she closed the heavy wooden door.

Then she looked up at the sky. She was too young to really remember what the world had been like before all this, but she knew that there was a time when magical beings, like guardian angels, watched over witches. She looked up at the sky and uttered a single prayer, hoping that someone, somewhere, would hear her.

"Help me."

* * *

"Did you hear the rumors?" Chris asked as he took a seat next to Myst on the sofa in the small safe-house. "Barbus has surfaced again."

"The demon of fear? I thought he'd been vanquished?"

Chris shrugged. "Mom and Aunts vanquished him many times. Somehow, he always came back." The brunette paused, running a hand through his hair and slowly shaking his head. "He's using his powers to convince witches to fight Wyatt."

"Why would he want to turn witches away from Evil?" Myst questioned, confused. Barbus stood to gain the most if evil took full control of the world.

"I don't think he ever really cared about Good and Evil," Chris answered honestly, struggling to remember anything he might have overheard from his mother, father, or aunts. Barbus was practically a legend in his family, the one demon that somehow kept coming back, no matter how many times they defeated him. "From what I remember," Chris mused quietly, "he only really cared for himself. And I guess… Wyatt causes fear. Of course Barbus is going to use that against good witches. It's what he does."

"Well, Wyatt will catch up with him sooner or later," Myst said confidently. She knew, better than most, that very few could avoid the wrath of the Twice Blessed for long.

"True," Chris agreed readily.

"How's Adam?" Myst asked, changing the subject.

Chris brightened at that. "He seems to be a lot better. The nightmares come less frequently. And he's gotten it into his head that someone we can fix everything. That hope keeps him going."

Myst gave a tentative smile at Chris' words, but she couldn't help but wonder what Adam had seen that made him so convinced everything would work out alright. There was really nothing left in this world, and the remnants of the Resistance were crumbling all around her. They could barely keep the safe-houses protected, and sooner or later Wyatt would find them.

He always did.

Chris rubbed his eyes wearily and stood slowly, stretching sore muscles. A rush of exhaustion passed through him, but he tried to shove it away with all the strength he could muster.

It wasn't enough.

The problem was that while Adam seemed to be getting better, Prue was getting worse. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that was wrong with her, but every time they interacted he was left with the uneasy feeling that he should be doing something to help her. And yet he had no idea what it was, because he had no idea what was actually wrong.

"Where are you going?" Myst asked, rising to her feet as well.

"Just going to stretch my legs," he said.

He moved slowly away from her, and she watched him go with a sadness in her eyes. She'd grown closer and closer to him over the past months, and yet every time she wanted to bring up their almost-relationship, something seemed to get in the way. First their had been Bianca's betrayal, and then Leo's death, and then the fall of Valhalla. Now it felt as though she'd just let all the opportunities slide past, and it left her with the hollow feeling of regret.

Chris, seemingly oblivious to Myst's inner struggle, made his way through the hallway leading from the room. He paused after a moment, noticing a dim light flickering from beneath one of the closed doors to his right. With a frown, he stepped forward and pushed the door open.

Prue was standing in the middle of the room, leaning over a table covered in maps of the city. A single lantern flickered on the very end of the table, casting shadows along the length of the wall.

"Prue, what are you doing?" Chris asked in confusion, crossing to her side.

"I'm thinking," she answered calmly, not even looking up at him.

Chris fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "About what? And why haven't you turned on the lights?"

Prue looked up at him then, and her dark eyes seemed to hold something he couldn't identify. "Power supply is low," she answered. "I don't want to waste our resources, we've got precious little of them as it is, and the base has to hold us for a while."

There was far too much logic in her words to argue, but Chris still couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something here. "Alright," he murmured, "so what are you thinking about?"

Prue leaned over the maps and ran her finger along an artificially drawn black line that divided the city into segments. "We can't hold sector C-4 forever," she explained. They'd divided the city into sectors, and planned their rescue missions according to which sector had the most demon attacks. Likewise, safe-houses were located for places without much magical events, and surprise attacks, of which they planned very few, were always targeted at areas where Wyatt had the most influence.

Chris frowned, his eyes moving across the map to find C-4. It was on the very outskirts of the city, away from almost everything. It had several safe-houses.

"It requires too much effort," Prue continued. "But if we let it go, if we switch our resources, we might be able to shield sector A-1 and F-5 better." Both of those were surrounded by red dots, evidence of Wyatt's attacks and the death toll they had taken.

"C-4 has safe-houses for the elderly and children," Chris argued. "If we abandon it, everyone will die."

"We can move them somewhere else," Prue countered dismissively. "But look how far away C-4 is from everything else. It is practically on the other side of the city. We can't keep transporting all our resources out there, it takes too much time."

"It is over there because we wanted to keep the elderly and children away from all of the fighting," Chris replied with a firm shake of his head. He didn't like the way Prue was looking at this, but he didn't know how to convince her to see things from his point of view.

"And the more effort we put into protecting them, the less we put into protecting those who are actually fighting. And then they die, and we lose soldiers." Prue straightened again and looked at Chris, and he knew she was thinking of all those who had already died in this war.

They were going to lose. It was the unspoken truth no one would utter and everyone knew.

"You would have me trade one for the other?" he questioned finally.

"It isn't as though we are killing them all," Prue sighed. "We are just putting them into a bit more danger by moving them closer, but we are also giving our soldiers, those who can actually do good for this world, a bit more protection."

Chris bit his lip. "I don't like it."

Prue shrugged. "You can't save everyone, Chris."

She turned away from him, and Chris, unable to think of anything to say, walked from the room. He paused in the hallway and found himself staring at Myst, who had obviously followed him. Closing the door firmly so that Prue would not hear any of the conversation, he ran his hand through his hair and said, "How much did you hear?"

"Enough," Myst answered simply.

Chris nodded. "I'm worried about her."

Myst glanced past him to the door, then said, "What do you think you should do?"

"I don't know," Chris admitted slowly. "I feel like… this entire thing is a joke. I mean, we talk about safe-houses and soldiers and fighting this war, but we are barely staying alive. This isn't fighting, this is…" He trailed off and shook his head. "I don't know," he said again.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You'll fix this. I know you will."

He gave her a hard look, then shrugged off her hand. "How?" he demanded. "How do you know?"

She was close to him now, so close their faces were almost touching. "I know you," she answered.

"Yeah," he muttered, "but you know Wyatt, too."

She smiled, bitter-sweet. "I do," she agreed, "and I still know that you're going to fix this."

They drew closer, faces barely centimeters apart, and then footsteps in the hall caused Chris to jump back and turn towards the approaching sound.

It was David, and he looked breathless.

The dark-haired witch paused, looking between Myst and Chris with an air of confusion, wondering at their flushed faces and awkward silences. But when neither made any move to explain what he had interrupted, he dismissed it and started talking quickly.

"I heard another rumor. Looks like Wyatt caught up with Barbus."

Myst gave a grim smile. "Of course he did."

"That doesn't mean it's over," Chris pointed out. Myst and David turned to him, questioning, and he elaborated, "Wyatt may always catch up with his enemies, but Barbus isn't just another demon. He's the Demon of Fear. And he always comes back."

* * *

Even without the Elders watching over the now-destroyed world, their was still something keeping an eye on the inhabitants of the tiny planet, observing their struggles, successes, and failures. And Monica's two-word prayer was heard by some Power That Be, and was answered.

She witch paused on the street, looking around, wondering how long it would be until Wyatt's demons found her, until it was all over and she was either dead or another member of his empire.

And then the man stepped out of the house in front of her and looked down at her with concern in his eyes. "Are you alright?" he called out, and hurried down the steps to her side. "You look ill."

She gave a faint smile. "I just… I don't… don't feel well."

"Here, let me get you a glass of water," he offered, gesturing back towards his house.

She gave a sardonic smile. "How do you know I'm not evil?"

He laughed. "I've been around evil. You're not it."

Against her better judgment, she found herself taking a liking to this trusting stranger with the kind face. "I'm Monica," she said, extending her hand. "Monica Parker."

He took her hand, shaking it. "Daryl. Daryl Morris."


	38. The Fall From Grace

Title: Shadows at Noon  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Fall From Grace

"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the  
morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst  
weaken the nations!"

Isaiah 14:12

I knew something was wrong. It was my fault, in a way. I knew something was wrong, and I worried about it, but I did nothing. And yet, I was so wrapped up in my own fury and grief that I could not see the truth before my eyes. I did not see that this was my fault, not until a while later, not until it was too late to take back what had happened and start again.  
When Wyatt went down the wrong path, I helplessly watched him fall.

And now Prue was falling from grace as well, and although this time I could have saved her... this time we were all too preoccupied to pull her back from the ledge.

But let me start at the beginning.

* * *

Prue ducked as the fireball flew past her head. She couldn't help but let out a sharp breath of frustration at the movement and replied with her own burst of fire swirling from her palm. Chris, who was fighting another demon nearer to the end of the alley, rocked backwards on his heels as he barely managed to avoid an athame that was thrown directly at his heart. The three witches they had been trying to save, the only known survivors of a powerful coven that had been brutally annihilated by renegade demons the week before, were standing together in a clump, valiantly holding their own as they fought against two other demons.

Prue flung out her hand and the ground began to shake in response to her powers. She had not meant to call upon that particular elemental gift, but the mini-earthquake did startle the demons long enough for Chris to vanquish his opponent and one of the demons attacking the three witches. Prue followed suit by vanquishing hers, but the last demon, the largest of the bunch, easily dodged her attack and struck one of the witches to the ground. Chris countered by telekinetically shoving the demon backwards, but the creature was still able to retain a grip on its athame, and it lunged forward and plunged the sharp metal blade into the witch's throat.

She gave a gurgle, blood pooling at her lips, and died.

"No!" Prue cried, fury temporarily blinding her to anything else as she sent a stream of barely controlled fire directly at the remaining demon. He jumped out of the way and the fire harmlessly scorched the wall of the building behind him.

One of the two witches left standing flicked her own wrist at the demon, and he was suddenly engulfed it what looked like dark red goo. It covered his face, blinding him,and slid down his shoulders onto his arms, trapping them at his side. He struggled against the strange goo, but to no avail.

Chris telekinetically sent the demon's own athame directly into the demon's back, and he howled, making nothing more than a choked sound against the red goo, before erupting into flames and disappearing.

"What was that?" Chris asked, turning to the witch who had conjured the goo.

The witch shrugged hesitantly. "I don't know. It's just something I can conjure. It traps demons... suffocates them, also." She gave an awkward smile that turned into a tearful grimace as she looked down at her fallen comrade.

"We should go," Prue said quickly, sharply. "Chris, can you take the body also? For a funeral?"

Chris nodded, and the group linked hands. Prue placed her hand on Chris' shoulder and Chris reached out gingerly to touch the dead witch, and they all disappeared in a swirl of blue and white lights.

* * *

She wasn't the first witch we had lost, and she wouldn't be the last. Her death wasn't even that brutal compared to some of the things we had seen. But somehow it set Prue off, and the anger that had simmered beneath the surface ever since her father's death broke loose, filling the air around her and crackling with an electricity that somehow, inexplicably, unforgivably, went completely unnoticed by the rest of us.

* * *

Adam shifted through the pile of papers that threatened to slide off the table and onto the floor, searching for the spell he had written earlier that day. Ria, standing at his side, protested his movements with all the passion she could muster.

"You can't just use a spell that you haven't thought through properly. Adam, do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"I did plan this out properly," Adam answered evenly as he finally located the spell and lifted it into his hand. "And I know exactly what I am doing."

"It is way too dangerous," Ria countered. "Casting a spell to elaborate on your own dreams... You do realize that you could get lost in a dream, don't you? You could get stuck inside your own head. Like being in a magical coma."

"Or, I could find the solution to this horrible future," Adam retorted.

"Yeah, and that won't be much good when you're in your magical vegetative state and can't communicate with any of us."

Whatever Adam's response to that was going to be was lost as Chris orbed in, bringing Daryl and a very confused looking young woman with him. There was complete silence for a moment, then Adam and Ria both cried in unison, "Daryl!" and launched themselves at the older man.

"Huh," Daryl said with a grin as he returned their hugs, "didn't realize I was so well loved."

"Daryl!" Ria protested with a laugh. "Are you going to stay?" she asked eagerly.

Daryl sighed. It was no secret that his refusal to join the Resistance had been particularly hard on the younger Halliwells, especially since Leo's death. They had begged him, time and again, to seek safety with them. But he had always refused, insisting that he had to live his own life in his own world. It was something he knew they wouldn't never truly understand, and so he was never surprised when they looked at him with a sense of betrayal in those brown eyes.

But it didn't make it any easier to turn and walk away.

"No," he replied softly, "I'm just bringing someone here. This is Monica," he gestured to the woman behind him. "Monica Parker. She's a witch. She just had an altercation with Wyatt. And..." he glanced back at her questioningly, "Bartus?"

"Barbus," she corrected in a timid voice. "He's the..."

"Demon of Fear," Adam supplied. "Yeah, we know." He looked at her for a moment, then turned to Chris, holding out the paper on which he had written his spell. "Can you look over this and let me know if the spell seems okay?"

"It isn't okay, Adam," Ria interjected as Chris took the worn paper from his cousin's fingers. He gave Ria a mildly surprised look, and then glanced down at the spell.

"What are you trying to do?" Daryl asked interestedly, glancing over Chris' shoulder at the words on the paper.

"Look into his own dreams," Ria answered before Adam had the chance to respond. "In case they turn out to be prophetic." She gave a little impatient huff and added, "Of course, it is a suicide mission, but it isn't like he cares about that..."

"I care," Adam argued. "But it might not be as dangerous as you think."

"Delving into any mind is dangerous, Adam," Chris said with some concern, "even if it is your own."

"See?" Ria cried in triumph, pointing at Chris. "Chris thinks it is a bad idea, too."

"Well," Adam said with a smirk curling the corners of his lips, "I suppose I should be grateful, then, that I don't actually need your permission to do this."

The silence that met those words was broken by the sound of footsteps on the floor and Prue stepped into the room. She looked surly and sullen, but her expression brightened at the sight of Daryl. "Hi!" she said enthusiastically, hurrying to give their family friend a hug. "What are you doing here?" She alone had given up asking him to stay, she seemed somehow to understand that he couldn't be here.

Daryl waved a hand towards Monica. "Helping someone."

"Oh." Prue cast a curious glance at Monica, then turned to her cousins. "Why are they all glaring at each other?"

"Adam wants to cast a spell to see his dreams," Daryl explained, "and Ria thinks it is too dangerous."

Prue turned and interested gaze to her youngest cousin. "Do you think you could find something in those dreams?" she questioned thoughtfully. "Something useful, that is."

"Maybe," Adam answered. "Anyway, it is worth a shot, isn't it? I mean, I know how dangerous it is, but still..." He gave Prue and imploring look, and she began to nod slowly in agreement.

That brought Ria back into the conversation with a furious, "No! You can't just make a decision to risk your life like that."

"We risk our lives every time we leave here to help other witches," Prue replied pointedly, taking up the argument and giving Adam a brief respite. "If Adam can help, how is that any different?"

"It is different because we don't know if he can help," Ria replied through clenched teeth, angry that her older cousin had chosen to side with Adam. "For all we know, he's rushing into death for no good reason."

"He thinks he can help," Prue countered.

"That's not the same thing," Chris said, coming to Ria's aid. "Prue, you know we never go out on rescue missions unless we are all agreed on it. We don't risk our lives unless their is a good reason. Adam wants to do this in spite of our opinions. That's the problem. We shouldn't make decision by ourselves."

"Well, maybe you two should actually try listening to Adam," Prue snapped in reply, eyes narrowed. "He says he thinks it will help. Just trust him."

"We do trust him," Ria retorted, flushed at the implication. "Of course we do."

"Then act like it," Prue hissed. "He wants to do something. Something that might actually be useful. And you two can't be bothered to listen to him long enough to see that, in the long run, this might be our best bet."

"I am not going to sacrifice my younger brother to save the world," Ria snapped.

"You don't know he's going to die," came Prue's reply.

"You don't know he isn't."

It was Monica's words, still quiet and diffident, that brought a halt to the argument. She turned to Daryl, eyes wide, and asked, "Maybe we should come back later?"

"No," Chris said. "I'm sorry, this wasn't the way we wanted to greet you." He shot an annoyed look at the other three, then said, "Come on, I can show you around. It's not much, but you'll be safe here."

"Thanks," she murmured, and followed Chris from the room.

Prue stalked away as well, leaving Adam, Ria, and Daryl standing alone in the room. There was a long silence, tense and fraught with unspoken frustrations, and then Daryl said, "You're siblings. You are both trying to do what you think is right. Stop acting like the other person is the enemy here. Because you guys have a real enemy, and he's difficult enough to stop without you fighting each other also."

Ria opened her mouth to retort, but the look in Daryl's eyes forced her to stop and to listen, really listen, to what he was saying. She slowly inhaled, nodding. "You're right. I just..." She looked over at Adam, wishing she could get him to understand how terrifying it was to hear him talk about this dangerous spell as though it would be the easiest thing in the world. She needed him to survive this war, and if anything went wrong...

"I know," Adam said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry at you. I just... I really think I can do this."

Ria swallowed back the lump in her throat. "And I really can't lose you."

* * *

They were siblings, and they could work it out. One way or another, they always managed to get past the arguments and the fights and focus on the good things in the world.

So they did.

And they were happy, for a time, because they had managed to repair and almost broken bond, and come to an agreement about the spell. They were happy because they thought it was all over.

But they didn't think about Prue.

They were siblings. They could work it out. But Prue... she couldn't work it out. Because she was still angry, all the time, and we were still too involved in our own personal problems to notice.

* * *

"Damn it!" Chris breathed as the fireball passed close enough to him to singe the material of his shirt. He felt the heat, and blinked away a daze of pain, before turning to the offending demon with a cold stare. Flinging out one hand, he sent the demon flying through the air.

They were in a parking lot outside a small grocery store. Prue and Myst were both engaged with a group of demons, and Chris was struggling to make his way through another knot of enemies to reach the five children huddled by the entrance to the store. It was another rescue mission that had dissolved into a desperate fight for survival, and they were losing.

The children were screaming, sobbing, begging for mercy, as though the demons actually had mercy to give.

Chris doubted any of them were magical. Usually, in a situation like this with emotions running so rampantly out of control, magic would explode from even the youngest of untrained witches, a protection of sorts. Since nothing like that had happened, he could only assume that they were mortal, and therefore felt the horror of this even more. The parents of each child had been killed, not because they were powerful threats to the demons, but because the demons had thought it was fun. Sport.

He felt sick.

The sound of Myst's voice forming into a sharp, short cry of pain caused him to spin around with fear in his eyes. He saw the blonde warrior stumble and fall under the vicious onslaught of three demons. His own enemies and the five children he needed to save were suddenly forgotten, and all he could think of was the terror and pain that would accompany Myst's death. He couldn't let that happen, couldn't lose her to the same fate that had taken everyone else he cared about.

Without the slightest hesitation, he rushed to her side, shoving two of the demons aside and yanking her back to her feet. She was bleeding from a long cut down her side, but it was shallow enough to not be life-threatening at the moment. She raised her own sword as the demons came back, and was able to fight off yet another attack.

It was then that they heard it, the sob that ended suddenly, the four resulting screams, the thud of a bodying falling. Chris, Myst, and Prue all whipped around to see one of the demon stabbing his athame into the chest of one of the young children, a redhead with brown eyes and a pale face. She opened her mouth in one last cry of pain before her eyes glazed over and she fell, face-forward, to the ground.

"No!" Prue cried as the demon turned to another child, this time a boy. A burst of wind left her hand, and a mini-tornado swept across the parking lot, picking up dust and pebbles and broken glass. It collided into the demon, somehow magically bypassing all the children. The demon screamed out in rage, but it was too late to do anything, and several shards of glas embedded themselves in his chest until he went up in a rush of flames.

Their were four demons remaining, but they all gave Prue apprehensive looks and shimmered or blinked away.

The young elemental witch, breathing heavily, rushed to the children and bent at the side of the young girl. She was dead, far beyond saving, and Prue carefully brushed the dirt off her young face and closed her eyelids.

She couldn't have been more than five.

"Oh, God," Chris whispered, his entire body shaking.

The sound of his voice caught Prue's attention, bringing her crashing back into the present with a sudden fury. Spinning to face Chris, she demanded with an accusing tone, "Where were you?"

"What?" Chris stuttered.

"It was your job to get to the children, Chris," Prue continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "At the beginning of the fight, you told us to hold off the demons and you would get the five of them out of here. Safely. You had plenty of time to get there. Why didn't you?"

"I..." He looked over at Myst, unprepared for and immeasurably hurt by his cousin's outburst.

"Oh, right," Prue said, rolling her eyes in disgust, "you were too busy playing kissy-face with Myst!"

"She'd gotten hurt. I was trying to help her," Chris protested.

Prue rose to her feet and gave Chris a disparaging look. "She's one of the Valkeries, Chris. She's a trained warrior. She can fight on her own. You just saw some blood and panicked, and look what happened!" She glanced down at the dead girl again, and added, "Why didn't you use your telekinesis to get the demons away from the children? Even if you were over with Myst, you should have been able to do that."

"I didn't... it happened so fast..."

"Well, the demon clearly had plenty of time," Prue sneered.

Chris paled and Myst looked ready to start a fight, to jump to the defense of her friend, but Prue had already turned away and was talking to the four remaining children, offering reassurances and comfort in a gentle tone so unlike her previous anger. Chris placed his hand on Myst's arm and shook his head, signaling for her to let go of her rage, and the two of them joined Prue, quieting the crying children and transporting them to safety.

* * *

Maybe Prue was right. Maybe I shouldn't have gone to save Myst. She was probably more than able to protect herself, and I was reacting with my heart and not my head. But I didn't think about Prue's point-of-view at the time. I only saw the dead child, hair splayed out on the ground, blood pooling on her chest, and heard Prue's harsh words.

And felt anger.

So I avoided Prue as much as possible. And I don't know how I possibly missed what happened next, how everything could have changed, could have gotten so drastically worse, without me noticing.

But it did.

And that is something I will regret until my dying day.

* * *

Prue glanced around the empty alley and then looked up at the full moon. The people she had been helping in this mission, a nymph and two leprachauns, had succesfully escaped the warlocks that were now nothing more than piles of ash on the dirt-covered alley ground. She breathed a sigh of relief at that. She'd been out-numbered, and she knew it had been foolish to fight on her own, but she had been the only one at the safe-house when the distress call had come, and she'd been forced to go alone or risk being too late to save the innocents.  
The sound of a whirling buzz caused her to spin around, and she found herself facing a giant probe that instantly scanned her face and transmitted before she could destroy it.

It happened in the blink of an eye, so fast she realized that he had always been waiting for something like this, had always been prepared to drop everything and orb as soon as his probes picked up one of them.

And before she knew it, black and blue orbs filled the air in front of her, and she found herself staring into Wyatt's icy blue eyes.


	39. The Road to Hell

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This is a very short chapter, although the next ones after it will be pretty long. It's mostly just the prequel to what is going to happen next in the plot...

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Road to Hell

_They say the road to hell is paved with..._

Prue took a few steps backwards, fear flickering in her pretty eyes. Here he was, standing directly in front of her, and all she wanted to do was scream, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her breathlessly helpless.

"What's the matter, Prue? Aren't you happy to see me?" Wyatt asked, gloating slightly. He could not deny that the terror in her eyes somehow hurt him, twisted the tiniest bit of his soul until it ached with the desire to wipe that look off her face. He had done all this for his family, and they repaid him with this? How could she look at him like he was the enemy? Didn't she understand...?

"What do you want, Wyatt?" Prue asked, her voice shaking. She lifted her head in some determination and glared coldly into his eyes as though daring him to come attack her where she stood. "What do you want with me?"

"I want my family back, Prue. How is that so difficult for you to understand?" Wyatt asked. He folded his arms over his chest and regarded her with something akin to frustration. The cold wind whipped between them, and a distant crash of thunder indicated the approaching of a storm.

Prue looked at him for a moment, then shook her head. "Your family?" she asked, voice dangerously quiet. "You abandoned us, Wyatt. How dare you act like you are still family when you _left _us."

"I didn't leave you," Wyatt argued. He gestured with one hand to the surrounding city. "I offered you, time and again, the chance to come back with me. Come home."

Prue snorted in disgust. "And when we refused, you decided to try to kill us?"

"Your deaths have never been part of my plan," Wyatt argued fiercely, eyes flashing with rage at her accusation.

"And Uncle Leo's death?" Prue interrupted before he could continue on his rant. "Was _that _planned?"

Wyatt froze for a moment, his eyes wide. Then he forced himself to respond, "No. It was the work of rogue demons. And I..." He paused, a grim smile turning his lips and he remembered how he had made sure those responsible for his father's death would never harm another being, magical or otherwise, ever again. "I took care of it."

"Maybe," Prue retorted, "but you didn't take care of us."

"I would have," Wyatt answered calmly. "If you'd have let me. I never wanted things to happen quite like this, Prue. I want to help you... to protect you." He paused wistfully, then added, "I promised all our mothers I would look after you four."

_... cement and dirt and sand and broken hearts and forgotten dreams..._

He had only ever wanted to save the world. His world. It was impossible to explain this to someone who had not seen the way his brother's eyes clouded over and faded into emotionless orbs at his mother's funeral. Impossible for anyone to understand this if they had not witnessed the horror and fear and unimaginable pain on Prue's face as she stumbled over her mother's lifeless body and turned haunted eyes to her aunt's still form.

Before his new order, the world was harsh and raw and cruel. His mother and aunts, so easily snatched from his grasp and thrown into the afterlife. Uncle Richard and Grandpa had followed suit, and then Nathaniel Pratt and the Chairman of the Witch Hunters and the President of the United States all had tried to take away the only things he had left. But he had changed it all, taken away those threats and replaced them with his own power.

He had only ever wanted to save the world.

He looked at Prue, and asked the single question that had plagued his thoughts for several months now.

"How's Chris?"

_...love and fear and just trying to do the right thing..._

Prue stared at him, her mind trying desperately to pick apart the double meanings in his question, to find the truth hidden behind the lie in his eyes. He couldn't possibly be simply concerned for Chris... could he?

"He's..." She was about to say fine, but the words caught in her throat and she shook her head. "Why do you even want to know?" she demanded hoarsely.

"Because he's my brother," Wyatt answered readily enough, and the honesty in his blue gaze was enough to convince her that he didn't have a hidden agenda for that question. He really, truly only wanted to know if Chris was okay. "I miss him," he elaborated with a half-shrug.

Prue scoffed at that, but was almost instantly silenced by the harshness of Wyatt's expression as he reacted to her behavior. With one hand, he telekinetically flung her away from him, and she hit her head against the ground as her body crumpled beneath her. Stars danced around her eyes.

"You act like I'm the enemy, Prue, and I'll treat you like you're just another worthless witch," he threatened coldly as she crawled painfully to her knees.

"I thought you were supposed to _protect _me?" she asked, tone mocking.

"I thought you were my family," Wyatt retorted, glaring down at her, refusing to let her words affect him. His expression was cold as he waited for her to climb back to her feet and face him with her trademark defiant sneer.

"So did I," she answered finally. "So did I."

_... hope and despair and realizations that everything had somehow gone wrong..._

"You don't get it," Wyatt said, turning his back on her and taking a few steps away, as though wanting to put distance between himself and his cousin. But despite his turned back, every sense was keenly set on Prue, and she knew better than to even attempt an attack against him. The silence was tense, charged with unspoken accusations and the uneasy acknowledgment that family was no longer enough for either of them.

"What don't I get?" Prue asked quietly.

Wyatt glanced at her, turning his head slightly over his shoulder. Then he looked up at the sky. "I know right from wrong, Prue. You think I'm evil? Evil doesn't exist. Just power, just our choices, just what we deem is right and wrong. And I know when something is right and when something is wrong." He gave her his full attention now, and asked, "How could trying to protect my family ever be considered wrong?"

"It's all about methods, Wyatt. Or don't you feel even the slightest remorse when you murder an innocent?"

Wyatt gave her another long look, scrutinizing her expression carefully. "No," he said finally, more to himself than to her, "I don't suppose I can save you now. You are too far gone."

"I'm not the one who needs saving," Prue said with a bitter, ironic laugh.

Wyatt raised an eyebrow. "You want to know what I feel when I kill someone?" Wyatt asked. "Nothing. But my father, Chris... they never seemed to understand that. Because they've forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" Prue prompted.

"They forgot that the Elder refused to let the Cleaners just clean up the exposure the day that our Aunt Prue died. They forgot all the times the Elders took Dad away from Mom or tried to stop Chris and I from being born. They forgot that _Good _magic is what forced your mother to vanquish Cole and her first-born child before he left the womb. They forgot that Nathaniel Pratt threatened to have you burnt at the stake. They forgot the nightmares you had, the premonitions that forced you awake, screaming until you had no air left in your body, terrified because you had felt those flames burn your skin.They forgot all the people I couldn't heal. They forgot Grandpa, how he wasted away from cancer because the Elders wouldn't let me save him. They forgot the Chairman who would have had us all killed. They _forgot_."

He paused, took a deep breath, surprised to find his heart racing and his lungs heaving with pent-up emotion.

Prue was staring at him with wide open eyes.

"They forgot," he said in a quieter voice, "that Mom's eyes unfocused as they glazed over with death. They forgot that Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe's blood stained the carpet a dark red before their bodies were removed. They forgot that our family continues to fight... and _die_... in the name of Good. And what do we get for it? _Nothing_."

He looked down at the cement ground beneath his feet, then up at Prue's guileless expression.

"The question, Prue," he said in a gentle tone, "is have _you _forgotten?"

_...the need to survive and to somehow make sense of loss and pain and everything bad..._

Prue stared at him. She had long since stopped hoping the world would ever make sense to her. She was the daughter of a Charmed One and a mortal, she was the future of Good magic. She was supposed to protect the innocents and save the world. It is what her mother had done, after all.

Of course, her mother was dead.

_... loss and grief and an anger that burns red-hot and fiery..._  
She hadn't forgotten. She hadn't forgotten any of Wyatt said, and she held little love for the Elders or the Greater Good. But that didn't mean that she believed anything Wyatt had said, anything he had argued. She might not agree with it, but there was a Greater Good.

A Greater Good that had let her parents, her aunts, her uncles, her innocents all die.

A Greater Good that had turned this world up-side down and created a living hell they couldn't escape.

A Greater Good that she somehow still believed was worth fighting for.

She tore her gaze away from Wyatt. The moon was glowing brightly now, and as she glanced up at it, she realized the sky was almost completely cloudless. It was a perfect night, the inky blanket above filled with tiny white dots of glimmering light, and shadows dancing along the cement ground beneath her feet. It was a perfect night.

And she was facing Wyatt.

"I haven't forgotten," Prue said finally. "I just choose to believe something different."

Wyatt narrowed his eyes and looked away, frustration and disappointment clouding his features. "No, Prue. If you do not agree with me, then you have forgotten as well. You can't _choose _to see it any other way."

Prue's face paled, and then two dark spots appeared on her cheeks, sign of her anger. "You dare accuse me of that, Wyatt?" she asked in a quiet hiss. "Do you really think I've forgotten? The way the demon _laughed _at my mother's still body? They way she lay, broken, sprawled across the floor? Or how my father fell, eyes wide, as he died to save me? That he looked at me... at _me_... right before his life was taken? That I saw... I saw it the moment... the moment his eyes _stopped _seeing me?"

A silence met that cascade of words, and Prue's breath, raspy and uneven, echoed in the still air.

"I _remember_," she spat. "I remember that my mother and aunts _did _die for this. For what they believed in. And I won't disrespect their memory by turning my back on what they sacrificed their lives to protect. Not because I've forgotten, Wyatt. Because I _remember_."

_... the naive belief that everything will turn out alright in the end..._

"You disappoint me."

Prue smirked cruelly at those callous words. "Maybe, Wyatt," she agreed, "but at least I haven't disappointed my mother."

"You dare...?"

She knew what was happening before the attack came, before the pain ripped through her body and sent her stumbling to her knees. She did not need her power of premonition to predict what would happen, nor did she need her mother's powers of empathy to sense the rage radiating from him, great waves slicing through the air. Her vision blurred at the edges, but she forced herself to look up at him, forced _him _to meet her gaze.

"If you want to kill me, do it already," Prue said simply.

Wyatt faltered. "I don't want to kill you," he said, and it was the honest truth.

"Then what do you want?" Prue sneered.

_...unknowns and undecided and unanswered questions..._

Wyatt leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest, and regarded her. "You are probably the most powerful of us, next to me. You are certainly more powerful than Chris or Adam. Ria could rival you, I suppose. I do not know."

Prue didn't deny his words. As a firstborn, she had inherited more power than would be passed along to a second child. Her elementals gave her an advantage in any fight. They were a rare gift, not often bestowed on witches because of the difficulty of controlling them, and the ease at which someone could lose themselves in the struggle to own such power. She was stronger than Chris and Adam, and right now she was stronger than Ria. She assumed she always would be, as Ria was still half-angel, and therefore half-pacifist.

"You could save more innocents than Chris could," Wyatt continued. "If you really believe that you should be continuing the foolish legacy of our mothers and Aunt Paige, then you are far more important than he is."

"He's family," Prue countered. "We are all important."

"Are you? _Really_?"

_... twisted words and out-of-context thoughts..._

"What do you want, Wyatt?" Prue repeated.

"I want Chris," Wyatt answered calmly. "And you are going to bring him to me."

"No, I'm not," Prue answered, her face betraying only the slightest flicker of fear at the hard look in Wyatt's icy eyes.

"Yes, you are," Wyatt continued. He turned away from her once again. She climbed back to her feet, and he said softly, "Or I will kill you."

"I won't betray Chris to save my own life," Prue snapped. "How could you even _begin _to think that of me?"

"Ah, but that's the catch, isn't it, Prue? If you let yourself die for him, you condemn innocents to death as well. Like that little child in the parking lot. Chris was too busy saving his new girlfriend and one more child died. How many times will that happen in the future, Prue? How many more will die without you there to save them?"

"No," Prue said stubbornly.

"Why not?" Wyatt demanded. "You are the one who just argued that your mother believed the Greater Good was important. Was worth something."

"It is, but not like that," Prue argued, and yet her resolve was wavering because it was so hard to look into those eyes and hear those words and wonder... What if? What would happen if she died? What would happen to the world? Was Chris really strong enough to save it?

She honestly didn't know.

_...ignorance..._

"Why not?" Wyatt pushed mercilessly. "I am trying to protect my family. But you tell me that my methods are wrong, that I am destroying the world. That what I do is _Evil_." He glanced at Prue and rolled his eyes. "But aren't you doing the same thing? Sacrificing all those innocents to keep Chris away from me?"

Prue shook her head, a desperate denial. "No."

"I won't kill him," Wyatt added, mostly as an afterthought. "You know I would never do that. He's my brother."

Prue wanted to say something, wanted to argue, but no sound came from her throat. She continued to shake her head, continued to stare at him with wide eyes that held hope and fear and confusion and desperation all mixed together. She was trembling, shaking in front of him, and maybe at any other time she would have been able to hold herself together and stand defiant and strong. But not now.

Not now.

_... unfair choices and unreasonable demands and problems that have no right or wrong answers..._

"I won't betray Chris," Prue said again.

"Why not?" Wyatt mocked viciously, bitterly. "You want to kill me, don't you? Your little Resistance wants and end to my regime, and you know you won't get it while I am alive. You want to destroy _me_. Aren't I your family, too?"

"Wyatt, stop," Prue said, and her voice was laced with pleading.

"I'm not doing anything, Prue. I'm only saying what you already know is true. Chris or the world. One or the other. Which is it going to be?"

"Stop it!"

"You can save more people, Prue. You can win more fights."

"Wyatt, no."

"Make a choice. Family or the Greater Good. Which one, Prue?"

"Please, _stop_. Just stop, leave me alone!"

"Not until you make a choice."

"Wyatt! Don't do this to me. I'm your family."

"And I am giving you a chance to show me where your loyalties are, Prue. Family or the Greater Good?"

"Both! Both, I choose both."

"One or the other. Now, Prue. Choose!"

"Stop. _Please."_

"Family or the Greater Good. My beliefs or your mother's legacy. Which one?"

"Wyatt..."

"_Choose_!"

She only wanted to keep the world from sinking into a deeper hell. She only wanted to keep people safe and alive and protected. She only wanted what was Right and Good.

She only wanted to save the world.

Then again, so did Wyatt.

_They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions._


	40. Family

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: The final flash in Adam's vision is a reference to _The Lost Future_. It isn't in the story itself, but it is a scene that takes place right after the epilogue. You don't really need to read _The Lost Future_ to understand this, though.

* * *

Chapter Forty: Family

Adam glanced briefly at the closed wooden door that seperated him from the rest of the safe-house. They had moved, again, and this new place gave him his own room seperate from Chris. He was pleased about that as it was necessary for his plan.

He looked down at the worn piece of paper in his hand. The spell was almost illegible now, having been rubbed into smudges at certain places. But he could still make out the faint words, and he still knew them by heart, anyway.

Footsteps in the hall. He jerked his head up, eyes wide.

"Adam?"

Shoving the paper into his pocket, he yanked the door open and smiled at his sister. "You do realize it is the middle of the night, right?" he asked, forcing himself to sound sleepy and disgruntled, instead of the wide-awakeness he actually felt.

"Yeah," Ria replied, in her anxiety not noticing his annoyed tone. "Prue's not back yet."

Adam blinked. "Where did she go?"

"I don't know. She left a message saying she was rescuing someone. We recieved a distress call, but the three of us weren't here, so she went by herself." She was shifting her weight back and forth, clearly terrified. "Chris says he can't sense her, and I can't either. I mean, she might just be blocking her signal to keep her safe from Wyatt, but still... if she knew she was going to be gone this long, she should have checked in. She _would _have."

"What do we do?" Adam asked hurriedly.

"Chris and I are going to go look for her. David is coming too. And Myst is going to see if she can get the remaining Valkeries to help her. You stay here in case she comes back. Let us know if you hear anything."

Adam nodded. "Okay."

After Ria left, Adam retrieved the paper from his pocket and carefully unfolded it. With both Ria and Chris out of the way, it was the perfect time to try this spell. But if Prue was missing, he couldn't just abandon the search for her. Not with his sister and cousin relying on him to watch things from this end. He sighed, frustrated.

"Hey. Is everything okay? Ria and Chris just ran out of here."

Adam turned towards the newcomer, and frowned, trying to remember her name. It took him a moment, but then he recalled that it was Monica. An idea came to mind, one that left him with bubbling guilt at even thinking about it. And yet...

Monica could keep an eye on things. And it wasn't like he was really abandoning the search for Prue. He was just handing it to someone else, someone who was probably reliable enough to manage everything.

Never mind that he didn't know anything about her.

Never mind that Prue was his family, and he was entrusting her life to a complete stranger.

He roughly shoved away those thoughts and focused on the paper in his hands, the possibility of saving the world, the chance to finally find the answer.

"Monica, can you do something for me...?"

It didn't take much to convince her to follow his plan. She would keep an eye out for any sign of Prue, and if she heard anything, she would contact Chris. In the mean time, Adam would be free to pursue his own ends.

Monica left, and he was once more alone in his bedroom. He walked over to the bed and carefully lowered himself until he was lying stretched out against the pillows. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, and then intoned the spell.

"Magic forces dark and light,  
To save us from this constant fight,  
In my mind I wish to go,  
To find our family's greatest foe.  
So bring me to my mind's dream,  
And let me see what should be seen."

_Adam looked around the attic, and frowned. He thought perhaps he had seen this all before. It certainly looked familiar.  
_

_Chris was shaking his head. The older witch-lighter looked... scared? Hurt? Despondent? He couldn't tell, but those green eyes were narrowed into a turmoil of emotions that brought a great welling of pity into Adam's heart.  
_

_"Okay, so what if I did?" Chris asked defiantly. "I was only trying to protect Wyatt."  
_

_It was then that Adam noticed the other four in the room. His mother, Aunt Phoebe, Aunt Piper, and Uncle Leo. None of them looked happy, but Piper looked downright furious.  
_

_"By tricking us?" she snarled.  
_

_"I had to," Chris replied, nearly begging.  
_

_"Why?" Phoebe asked softly.  
_

_"Because the only reason I came here was to keep Wyatt from turnng evil."  
_

_A complete silence met those words, but Adam was too lost in his own thoughts to pay attention. Instead, he was inspecting what Chris had said, turning it over and over in his mind, looking for the answer. If he was trying to prevent Wyatt from turning evil, that meant that he had to know what turned Wyatt evil. Or, at least, have an idea that _something _did this. And the only way he could prevent it was if he... went back in time?  
_

_When he finally tuned into the conversation again, Chris was still arguing, but it appeared that he was rapidly losing the Charmed One's faith.  
_

_"He's going to grow up and terrorise people with his powers, take over. Kill even."  
_

_Adam wondered vageuly how old Chris was and what had happened to make him look so haunted. Wyatt's regime had yet to break his brother's spirit, but this Chris looked like he might fall apart at any second.  
_

_"Why should we believe you after all the lies?"  
_

_"Because you have to!"  
_

_"No, Chris, we don't, actually." It was Piper's words, so cold and harsh, that caused Adam to flinch. He had few memories of her, having been so young when she died. But he heard the way Chris spoke about his mother, saw the adoration that shone in his eyes. Yet this woman that stood before him now was not compassionate and gentle and loving. She was not the Piper Halliwell he had heard about from his sister, cousins, Uncle Jason and Uncle Leo, Daryl...  
_

_This woman was hard and cold and sharp.  
_

_Chris flinched.  
_

_"Fine, then don't," Chris said. "Either way, we need to save Wyatt now and I'm the one who knows how to do it."  
_

_Adam frowned. Since when did Chris just give up on his parents' trust? On his mother's love? He let his gaze wander from Chris and Piper, to his own mother, who stood there quietly, watching with suspicious eyes. She was so young and so vibrant and so... alive.  
_

_He almost opened his mouth to call out to her, but he checked himself. She wouldn't hear him anyway.  
_

_He turned his attention back to Chris, who was now looking so desperate that Adam couldn't understand how even the hardest of hearts would not have melted for him.  
_

_"Please, I'm the only one who can save him. Let me help."  
_

_Adam tilted his head to the side and contemplated that. He had no doubt that Chris meant in this moment, in this here and now, he was the one who could save Wyatt from whatever evil it was that was after him. Today. Now. But what if it was true in the long run as well? What if Chris was the only one who could save him from The Evil? The thing that had turned him?  
_

_Phoebe, Paige, and Leo all defered to Piper, and she met Chris' pleading gaze with her own cool look. "Chris, we don't need your help. I will get my son back, and when I di, I never want to see you again. Understand?"  
_

_Chris swallowed and lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and then he orbed away.  
_

_The vision changed. This time, Adam found himself standing in the sunroom. Phoebe was frantically flipping through the Book of Shadows, and Paige was scrying on a large map spread out against the table. Leo had his eyes closed, clearly sensing for something.  
_

_Piper was not in the room.  
_

_"Nothing!" Phoebe said finally, slamming the Book shut. "There is nothing in here. We don't even know what kind of demon we are up against."  
_

_"Something powerful," Leo replied, giving her a look. "Something powerful enough to kidnap Wyatt, to get past his shield." He looked harried, as though he had aged a thousand years. His blue eyes were filled with pain and regret and guilt.  
_

_"Have you spoken to Piper?" Paige asked softly, looking up from the map.  
_

_Leo shook his head. "She just got out of surgery. I talked to the doctor. She's going to be fine. And so will... our son." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Christopher."  
_

_Adam ran a hand through his hair. This was clearly a different scenario, a different timeline. A timeline when Chris had yet to travel back to before he was born. Was this it? The original kidnapping? Was this what turned Wyatt evil?  
_

_He thought over what Leo had just said. It was the day Chris was born. Which meant Wyatt had been turned evil before he was even two years old.  
_

_"We are going to find Wyatt," Paige said finally when it became apparent that neither Phoebe nor Leo seemed able to finction on their own. Their grief and guilt was tugging them downwards, but the witch-lighter resolutely straightened up, hands on her hips. "Listen to me," she ordered. "We are going to find Wyatt. And we are going to vanquish this evil. And we are going to bring little Christopher and Piper home to a happy family. But you two need to work. Need to focus. There will be time for anger and all those other emotions later. Right now, the only thing either of you should feel is determination."  
_

_Adam felt a swelling of pride for his mother.  
_

_Leo looked at Paige, and then shook his head. "I should have... We wouldn't even be in this situation if..."  
_

_"This is not your fault," Paige said sternly. "This evil, it was smart. It planned well. There was no way you could have known it was coming. No way you could have stopped it. None of us knew. This is _not _your fault."  
_

_"I should have known," Leo snapped. "I'm his father, I should have been able to protect him!"  
_

_"You aren't the only one," Phoebe muttered, her tone filled with fury. "I'm the one with premonitions and empathy. Don't you think I should have known also?"  
_

_"This isn't helping," Paige said, looking between the two of him.  
_

_"Then what would?" Leo demanded. "We have nothing. No leads, no clues, no ideas. Nothing at all. Wyatt is missing, and we... I... I failed him."  
_

_In a softer tone, Paige said, "You only fail him if you give up."  
_

_Leo looked up sharply, and then nodded. "I won't give up," he said finally. "I won't give up on him. _Ever_."  
_

_Adam reflected quietly to himself that his Uncle Leo had never given up on Wyatt. Not even after he was turned. He was the one who had started the Resistance, who had argued with the Elders and refused to cut himself off from the world, who had spent so much time trying to find a way to get through to Wyatt. And he was the one who had refused to let Chris walk that same twisted path.  
_

_"You didn't give up," Adam whispered, knowing this Leo couldn't hear him. But still, he wanted to say the words, wanted to offer something to this family that was falling apart at the seams. "You didn't give up on him, Uncle Leo. On any of us. Not even in the very end."  
_

_The scene began to change again.  
_

_Now he was in the kitchen of the Manor. Chris and Wyatt were sitting at the table. They looked to be about the same age they were now, perhaps a little older. They were both drinking out of mugs, and Chris was staring through the window at the starry night sky above.  
_

_"So... finally moving out?" Wyatt asked.  
_

_"Yeah. I figured I'm old enough to not live at home anymore." Chris smiled, but his smile seemed a little sad. "Mom's not happy. Dad probably isn't either, but he's better at hiding it."  
_

_"They have every reason to be worried about you," Wyatt pointed out reasonably. "I mean, you do get attacked by demons. Like this afternoon when you almost died because Sarina skewered you with her athame."  
_

_Chris gave a fleeting smile. "Yeah. But Dad healed me."  
_

_"Promise me you will be careful," Wyatt said quietly. "I don't want anything to happen to you."  
_

_"Nothing is going to happen to me," Chris said. He looked down at his hands for a moment, and then added, "I've got an angel watching over me."  
_

_Wyatt frowned, not understanding the reference.  
_

_"I... I haven't told anyone this, but for those few seconds that my heart stopped beating this afternoon... I saw her." He closed his eyes and his entire face seemed to relax into a peaceful smile. "She was there. Watching over me."  
_

_"Bianca?"  
_

_"Yeah." Chris opened his eyes and looked at Wyatt. "I guess it is just nice to know that she is still here. By my side. Even if I can't see her."  
_

_"She loves you," Wyatt replied. "She always will. Even now that she's gone."  
_

_Wyatt was saved. It was the only thing that Adam could really understand as he watched this scene. Wyatt was saved, he was good. Piper and Leo were alive. The future... the future was changed. Better. Happy.  
_

_Well, not completely happy. There was still a sadness in Chris' eyes, but it was different. It wasn't the haunted sadness, the look that said so clearly that things would always just continue to get worse. This was bittersweet. There was good and there was bad. But there _was _good in this future, and that was all Adam really needed to know.  
_

_So then why wouldn't the spell let him wake up?_

* * *

Chris let out a sharp exhale of frustration. He had tried everything he could think of to find his missing cousin, but it was as though she had simply disappeared into thin air, or perhaps that she had never existed in the first place.

He didn't turn around, but he knew Myst was abruptly behind him, followed by three other Valkeries. He could tell by the fact that she did not speak right away that they had yet to find any lead as to Prue's whereabouts. He sighed again and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Nothing," he said quietly, angrily. "Nothing at all."

"We'll find her," Myst murmured, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. "She can't have just ceased to exist."

He turned to look at her then, and saw the others. A redhead, two brunettes. Valkeries he did not recognize, perhaps would never have known except that they were some of the few left alive after Wyatt's demons had all but decimated their island home. He switched his gaze back to Myst, and said bitterly, "But she has, Myst. She's gone. It's like..." He shook his head quickly, unwilling to say the word, to think the thought. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. "I can't sense her. Every contact I speak to says the same thing. They don't know anything, they haven't seen her. They can't help. She could be anywhere and I... I just don't know."

He was starting to panic.

"Chris, stop it," Myst ordered. "Stop this now. You are no good to anyone, least of all Prue, if you let your emotions out of control." She put her hands on either side of his face. "You will find her. I know you will."

The redheaded warrior standing behind them cleared her throat discreetly. "Maybe we should keep looking?" she suggested pointedly.

Myst glanced at them, then nodded. "Get your ear to the ground. Pick up rumors. Go to the Underworld if you have to." She slanted a look at Chris, then added, "I'm going to stay here. Let me know if you find anything."

The Valkeries nodded and left, and Myst focused her attention back on Chris. The street was quiet, almost empty. That was not uncommon these days, as mortals had long since learned the danger of venturing outside after dark. But it was odd for it to be this quiet, this long. Usually some activity would break through the stillness of the night. But not even a probe had drifted by.

"I don't like it," Chris said, correctly interpreting Myst's expression and letting his gaze wander around the street. "It is too quiet, isn't it?"

"You think Wyatt is planning something?" Myst asked, growing more concerned.

"If he has Prue..."

"We don't know that he does," Myst reminded him. "She could be hiding right now. Staying away from him."

It was unlikely, and in the silence that fell between the two of them, Chris could hear those unspoken thoughts. Either Wyatt had found Prue, or she had been found by his demons. Either way, she could be in trouble. Hurt, or...

No,

He wouldn't think about it.

"Can you sense anything at all?" Myst questioned.

"No." Chris licked his dry lips, a lump forming in his throats. "She's not on my radar. Anywhere."

"Chris, I..." Myst reached out and placed a hand on his arm again. He looked at her, and she met his gaze with a uncertainly so out of character that he was momentarily flustered. She offered a wan smile, one that he returned readily enough, and the blondemurmured, "I'm here. I can help. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"Thank you," Chris replied.

A burst of white and blue lights signaled the arrival of Ria. She looked at back of them, searching their expressions for any indication of hope, but found nothing. Her own face fell, and she looked suddenly so young and so lost. So confused.

"No luck," Chris said. It was a statement, not a question, but Ria answered anyway.

"Nothing. I can't... Nothing."

Chris pulled his arm away from Myst and walked over to his cousin. He wrapped her in a tight embrace and whispered gently into her ear, "Don't worry. We're going to find her."

"Yeah," Ria agreed. "But before or after she dies?" She didn't wait for an answer from Chris, and she wouldn't have received one anyway as the older witch-lighter was too upset by her comment to even think of a response. Instead, she looked away, eyes scanning the street, and Chris let his gaze drop to the ground.

"We should keep moving," Myst suggested. "We do no good by standing around, just talking."

"I agree," Ria replied, thankful at least for something to do. She strode briskly ahead, towards the end of the street, and Chris jogged behind. Myst hesitated before she followed them, one hand resting on her belt, fingers curled around the handle of her athame. The night above them was beautiful, a thousand stars shining brightly in the inky darkness, casting gentle light on the world below. Just enough light to make the shadows move, to confuse anyone searching for someone hidden in the stillness. It left her uneasy, and she could tell by Chris' stiffened posture that she was not the only one who felt that way.

Ria shot a subtle look at Myst. Their friend was seemingly preoccupied with her own thoughts, her own worries, and was unlikely to overhear any whispered conversation, so Ria flicked her eyes back to Chris and asked, "Why were you two standing around? Why weren't you looking?"

Chris flinched at the accusation in Ria's tone. "We were looking," he hissed back. "We just stopped to talk."

"Right." Ria rolled her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her tongue. "I'm not naive, Chris. But you clearly are."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Chris demanded, his voice raising just enough in volume for Myst to snap her head up and look at them in confusion.

Ria gave the blonde a smile, then turned frosty eyes back to Chris. "Nothing," she answered calmly. Then, with a pointed jerk of her head towards Myst, she added, "Nothing you shouldn't be able to figure out on your own." Without another word, she increased her pace, leaving Chris to stare after her.

"Why was she angry?" Myst asked, pausing by Chris' side.

Chris shrugged. "I don't know. I guess she thinks we're not doing enough to find Prue." He wanted to drop the subject, to leave it at nothing more than anxiety, but Myst could easily see through his lies. He tried to move away from her, and she caught his arm, pulling him back and forcing him to face her. Her pale eyes hardened and silently repeated the question, this time with an unspoken demand that he not lie to her.

"She thinks I'm spending too much time talking to you. Not enough time searching," Chris said finally. An anger began to bubble inside his stomach, an anger he could not contain. Ria was not the first to accuse him of letting his relationship with Myst get in the way of his witchly duties. Prue had said the same thing when he'd chosen to help Myst instead of saving that child in the parking lot. But he would never needlessly endanger an innocent, least of all his own _family_. How could either of his cousins think so little of him to accuse him of that?

"She's just worried, Chris." Myst gestured vaguely towards Ria, who had stopped several feet in front of them. It was clear, even from a distance, that Ria was fighting to contain her tears, to keep the sobs from escaping through her throat.

Prue was missing. And Ria's crumpled silhouette was what finally made everything seem so much more real to Chris.

Prue was _missing_.

They continued on in silence for a few minutes.

"Well, well, well... what have we here?"

The words had hardly left the warlock's mouth before Myst had already whipped the athame from her belt and sent it spiraling at their foe. The warlock was barely able to blink out of the way, and the knife buried itself up to the hilt in the hard mortar between the bricks of the building in front of them. When the warlock blinked back in, Chris was ready, and managed to telekinetically fling him through the air. Again, he blinked out.

"You're good," the warlock commented. "You might even be better than me. But guess what..." He trailed off, his gaze shifting to the right, just over Chris' shoulder. "You're not better than _him_."

Chris, Ria, and Myst spun around, facing their knew enemy as one.

Barbus folded his arms over his chest and said in a smug voice. "Doesn't your family know? I _always _come back."

_"Hello, Chris."_

Chris turned around, eyes widening in horror as he stared at the woman who was now standing before him. She was exactly as he had remembered her, from the long dark hair and beautiful eyes, to the short stature and incredibly powerful aura. But the look in her eyes. He had never seen that look before. Not on her face. Not when she looked at him.

It was complete and utter disappointment.

"Mom?"

Piper Halliwell smiled at her son, a smile that was cold and callous. _"You really are a disappointment, Chris."_

"No... Mom? How can you..." Chris took a faltering step backwards, his hands out in front of him in a sign of protest. Of pleading. Of surrender. "What are you saying?"

_"You turned out back on your brother, Chris. Haven't I taught you better than that? Family comes first. Family always comes first."_ She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his face. _"How could you do this to him?"_

"How could _I_?" Chris stuttered, incredulous. "How could _he_, Mom? Don't you see what he's done to the world? Don't you see?"

_"I see what he's done,"_ Piper answered. _"He's protected you. He'd fought to keep you alive. Safe. Your his brother, Chris. And you turned his back on him. You betrayed him."_ Her expression grew sad, regretful. _"And by betraying him and everything he's tried to do for you... you've betrayed me."_

"No. No, I didn't." Chris reached out towards her, but Piper made no move to take his hand. Instead, she simply stared back, and he found himself continuing, stammering through his words, "Mom, I'm doing this for you. For your legacy. This family's legacy. The world, Mom. Innocents. I'm trying to protect them. Just like you taught me. Just like you always wanted."

_"A war between my two sons?"_ Piper shook her head. "_I never wanted that, Chris."_

"It isn't my fault!"

"_Oh, but it is," _Piper countered, each word like a sharp dagger in Chris' heart. _"It is all your fault."_

"This isn't real, Chris."

Chris snapped his head towards Ria. His cousin stood at his side, both hands wrapped firmly around his arm. Her face was pale, almost sheet white, and her eyes had widened in fear and horror. But she was staring at him, determination glimmering below the surface of her terrified expression. And she wasn't letting go of his arm.

"This is your fear. This is what Barbus is making you see. But it isn't real. Aunt Piper isn't here, Chris. She's... she's gone. You _know _that."

"But she's..." Chris waved one hand towards his mother, "...right there."

"No, she isn't," Ria countered. "It's a phantom. A ghost. She's gone."

_"I'm not gone, Chris," _Piper said. _"I'm still inside of you. I'm still around you. I'm still watching over you."_ She dropped her gaze. _"And you still disappoint me."_

"Chris, stop listening to her!"

"Mom, please..."

"Chris, stop it!"

Ria's voice mingled with Piper's reprimands and Barbus' delighted laugh, and then the entire scene around Chris dissolved into bright lights. And he was gone.

Ria turned to face Barbus. Her eyes were filled with tears and a few streaks of white had appeared in her hair. But her fears were gone, pushed away behind an iron-clad wall of stubborn determination. "Stop!" she snarled, glaring at the Demon of Fear.

"Do you really think orbing your cousin away will save him?" Barbus asked mockingly. He was a little more than surprised that Ria had fought off her greatest fears, but he knew by now never to underestimate a Halliwell. He glanced for a moment at Myst, who was caught in a nightmare of her own, backing away from something no one else could see. His smirk grew.

"Do you really think you can ever destroy us?" Ria countered.

"You have many fears, my dear. And maybe you think you've overcome them now, but I know better. You can't win against me. I'll _always _come back." And so saying, he shimmered away.

His departure broke the spell on Myst, and she blinked in surprise as her fears faded away and she was back on the street again. She looked around quickly, and noting Chris' absence, demanded, "Where is he?"

"I orbed him out of here," Ria answered. "Back to the safe-house."

"Are you... okay?" Myst ventured hesitantly.

"Fine," Ria answered curtly. She ran a hand through her hair, then asked, "What did you see?"

Myst closed her eyes for a moment. "Freya. She said... she said I'd failed her. Failed my sisters."

Ria accepted this in silence. Finally, she mused to herself, "You and Chris seem to have the same fears." She didn't provide any more explanation, and Myst didn't ask. She doubted Ria would have told her Chris' greatest fear anyway. It was a personal matter, and it was Chris' secret to tell.

Instead, she asked, "What did you see?"

"It doesn't matter," Ria replied, turning away. "I fought through it."

There was a tense silence. Then...

"You don't like me," Myst commented bluntly.

Ria's lips curved upwards into a sardonic smile. "I don't dislike you," she answered.

"Really?" Myst raised her eyebrows skeptically.

Ria didn't answer that question. "Barbus is going to be a problem. For all of us. Maybe we can't get rid of him for good. But we can get rid of him for a little while. Chris and I should probably work on a vanquishing spell and potion. Something with a lot of power. Something fool-proof."

"I don't know much about Barbus, but I think of few of my sisters have crossed paths with him before. I can ask if they remember anything about fighting him that might help you and Chris," Myst offered.

"Thank you," Ria answered.

Again, the tension.

"Maybe we should go back to the safe-house. Check on Chris," Myst suggested.

Ria chuckled darkly. "Yes, I suppose that would be your first concern."

Myst stiffened. She knew what this was about, knew why Ria didn't like her. But she just couldn't understand why the witch-lighter would be opposed to her friendship with Chris.

Ria gave Myst a hard stare, then answered the question the other woman had yet to ask.

"Because you like him. And you've liked him for a long time. Since before Bianca..." Her eyes narrowed, hardened. "You were just waiting for something to go wrong with Bianca, weren't you? You couldn't wait to get your claws into Chris."

"I don't have claws," Myst snapped. "And I care about Chris. A lot. I would never hurt him."

Ria's gaze softened. "You are a good person, Myst. A good friend, a good warrior. A good sister. I _know _that. And, contrary to what you might think, I don't dislike you."

"Then what do you dislike so much?"

Ria frowned, lines marring her forehead. "Do you remember how Chris acted when he was around Bianca? How he could never tear his gaze away from her? How his face flushed and his eyes lit up and he just... smiled. A lot. They weren't even dating then... weren't even..." She let out a slow breath. "But he was always so happy to be around her."

"Until she turned him over to Wyatt," Myst pointed out bitterly.

"Yeah." Again, Ria sighed, a single slow exhale. "Chris doesn't act that way around you."

Myst felt as though she had been slapped. But Ria continued talking, not waiting for a response, for a defense, for an argument.

"He likes you. A lot. You are probably his best friend and closest confidant. But he's not in love with you. You might have chemistry. But it has been so many months since Bianca..." She stopped, collected her thoughts, and continued, "You don't get anywhere, do you? You don't kiss. You don't... you don't even talk about love. You might get close, but something always gets in the way, doesn't it?" Myst couldn't answer to that, so Ria said, "But if he was in love, he would make the time for that. He would make the time, because it would be that important to him. And the thing is... you _know _that. You've always known that. You just won't admit it."

"I..."

"It's hard to admit it. When the world is going to hell around you, you cling to the one thing you have left. The one good thing that makes it all worthwhile to keep fighting. And you cling to it so tightly that you don't even realize when your clinging is also the thing that starts ruining..." She stopped, shook her head, dropped her gaze. She was thinking of Adam, Myst knew, and of how overly protective she had always been of her younger brother. Adam had grown up and was ready to fight his own fight now, but it was hard to let him walk into danger because he was her brother. And she was supposed to protect him, keep him safe.

So she clung. And he pushed back. And they fought.

Ria finally forced herself to continue. "Chris really cares about you. Enough to run to your aid when their are children who need to be protected as well. Enough to stop and talk to you when our cousin is missing. But you want more from him, and it won't work out. And if you continue to pursue this, you will only make yourself and him unhappy in the end. You will ruin the wonderful friendship you have. You _will _hurt him. And that..." Ria gave Myst a last, long, contemplative look, "_that _is what I dislike so much."

* * *

Chris was shivering with fear. He could still see his mother's features, the way she looked at him with such disappointment. Such regret. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to tell her that he never meant to hurt her, or Wyatt. He wanted to tell her that all he wanted was to fix this. To fix his family. To save his brother.

He loved them all.

And he was so, so sorry.

And then he heard it. Prue's cry, faint and trembling. She was calling for him. She _needed _him.

And because she was his family, he trusted her. He orbed to her side.

And directly into a trap.

The demons seemed to appear before he could even register their presence. Not that it would have made a difference. He was frozen to the spot, trapped by the sapphire eyes staring at him. He could not move, could not react as the demon's tightened their grip around his arms, as his only means of escape, orbing, was effectively cut off by an anti-orb spell. He could think of nothing at all save the person before him. And only one word came tumbling from his barely parted lips.

"Wyatt."

"Hello, Chris," Wyatt said. His tone was gentle, soft. Almost... kind. And in his eyes shone a comforting familiarity. A bond. A brotherhood.

It was then that Chris finally noticed Prue. She was standing a little behind Wyatt, partially in his shadow. Her face was streaked with dried tears, her eyes rimmed with red. And she stared at his eyes, seeing the exact moment realization dawned and he realized what she had done. She started shaking, and for a moment it looked as though she might run to him, try to save him, beg his forgiveness.

But she didn't.

"Why, Prue?" Chris whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

"She valued her life more than yours," Wyatt answered for her. He glanced over at Prue and nodded. "You kept your end of the deal, Prue. You are free to run back to your little Resistance." In his words was the unspoken declaration that he, too, was an honorable man. He kept his word, and he would let her go.

Prue moved in between the two brothers. "I have power, Chris, and you don't." she said, whispering in a voice low enough for only him to hear. She wanted him to realize that she wasn't trying to betray him, she just wanted to... Fix this. Save people. Make it all okay again. "I can do more good than you can..." Chris was glaring at her, and her voice broke as she murmured, "Don't you understand?"

"I'm your family," Chris spat. "I'm your _family_."

And in the silence that met those words were all the untold memories and unspoken words. All the times they had promised to protect each other, and all the times it hadn't been enough. All the times that they had lost. Piper's eyes, unseeingly staring at nothing. Pools of blood beneath Paige and Phoebe's bodies. Richard disappearing into his own vengeance and Jason falling beneath a half-Manticore's claws. Leo and Freya and the fall of Valhalla and all the times they had said Wyatt was no longer family. And all the times they had silently known that that one simple statement was not true.

In the silence that met Chris' words was the one statement they could never truly escape.

_We are _all _family._

"I know. But that isn't always enough," Prue said at last. She glanced over at Wyatt, then turned and walked away. And she didn't look back.


	41. On the Origin of Species

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: This chapter is long. Very, very long. It takes place over several days. I was originally going to break it up into smaller chapters, but it really needs to be read all together. So prepare yourselves, you will be sitting at the computer screen for a while. Also, I reference Harry Potter in this chapter. I don't own that story either.

* * *

Chapter Forty-One: On the Origin of Species

_Day One_

Chris stared around the room, his face pale, his eyes rimmed with red from lack of sleep. He wasn't sure exactly how long it had taken him to reach this particular place. The demons had shimmered him somewhere else first, a holding cell of some type, before bringing him here. He thought he might have only been in that other place for a few hours... or was it days? He didn't know.

It was not lost on him that the room he found himself in now was an exact replica of the room that he had grown up in. Even the window was enchanted so that when he looked through it he saw not the the expanse of blue sky he knew stretched out beyond, but the quiet of Prescott Street. As though he was really in the Manor. As though things hadn't changed, hadn't gone downhill. As though his home wasn't currently a museum.

He was dizzy. He didn't know why he was dizzy. Wyatt hadn't done anything to him, besides the kidnapping. He had hardly been mistreated, and although the holding cell hadn't been the most comfortable, it had been warm and furnished and filled with food and water and...

He reached out and steadied himself against the wall. Why was he so dizzy?

"You've been running yourself into the ground, Chris," Wyatt's voice drifted to him, and he turned and watched as the Twice Blessed stepped into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. "You are exhausted, and you refuse to eat or drink the food I provide. At the rate you're going, we won't have to worry about demons killing you. You are going to kill yourself."

Chris sank onto the bed... _his bed_... and sighed. "What do you want, Wyatt?"

The blonde witch-lighter conjured a glass of water and held it out to Chris. "Just drink, alright?"

"I don't need..." Chris stopped abruptly, clutching at his head. An incredible pounding noise seemed to rush through everything, and it took him a moment to realize that the air around him was completely silent, and it was only his own blood thudding in his ears that was causing this migraine.

He really was dehydrated.

"Why do you even care, Wyatt?" he snapped finally. "You obviously don't care about me..."

"That isn't true," Wyatt interjected, looking hurt. "That is not true at all."

"Then why are you doing this to me?" Chris murmured, jade eyes darkening slightly. "Why..." He choked on his own question, suddenly unable to finish it. It was too hard to speak now, too hard to do anything at all except...

Oh, God. He was trapped. With Wyatt.

How could Prue have done this to him?

"I'm doing this for you, Chris," Wyatt answered. He put the glass of water on the nightstand next to Chris. "Everything I've done has always been for you. I'm just trying to protect you. Like Mom would have wanted."

"_This _is _not _what Mom would have wanted."

Wyatt shrugged, turning to go. "Well, we can't really ask her now, can we?"

"Wyatt..." Whatever he was going to say died on his lips. Maybe it had been a plea, maybe he had wanted to beg for mercy. Or yell and scream and shout accusations. He couldn't even think straight anymore. He was just so tired, so worn out, that even his thoughts no longer made coherent sense.

"I missed you," Wyatt said finally as he paused at the door and gazed softly at his younger brother. In his sapphire eyes, the truth shone brightly, like a tiny remnant of humanity. Of hope. _I miss you_.

Chris stared at Wyatt, mouth partially open. "I hate you," he answered.

Wyatt's expression did not change. He merely gave a little shrug, as though the words did not hurt him nearly as much as Chris had intended, and walked out of the room.

Later that night, as Chris drifted in and out of sleep, he had the vague sense that Wyatt was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, watching over him as he lingered in his uneven and anxious slumber.

* * *

_Day Two_

"He's not eating or drinking?"

Chris was dimly aware of the two shadows standing over him. He lay on the bed, too tired to even focus his eyes, and barely listened to the sounds of voices rising and falling around him. Everything seemed to settle into a hum, an indistinguishable muttering. A few times he caught the sound of his brother's voice and the answering baritone of the demonic guard present, and heard a few words, but nothing seemed to make sense to him.

"...refuses to cooperate..."

"... always was a stubborn brat..."

He was dizzy. So dizzy.

Something pushed at his arm, something tried to wrap around his wrist. He inhaled sharply at the pressure, and it eased instantly, gently.

"... do himself great harm, Lord Wyatt."

A hand moved to his forehead. Something cold and wet fell against his eyes, and he murmured a protest. It was lifted slightly so that it rested on his hair and he could just make out the shapes moving around the corners of his vision.

"... oh, Chris..."

The last thing he saw were compassionate blue eyes, staring at him in worry, and then the darkness claimed him once more.

* * *

_Day Five_

"What exactly do you expect to gain by starving yourself to death?"

Chris rubbed the back of his head warily and blinked, trying to figure out if he was hallucinating. He had to be. It was simply impossible that Prue would be standing in front of him.

"Why do you care?" he asked. He didn't feel particularly light-headed or dizzy. In fact, all the pain was gone. And the room looked strange. Disconnected, disjointed. Like the reflection of reality through a broken mirror.

Great, he thought to himself, a little bitterly. He was going insane.

"Why wouldn't I care?" Prue asked, eyes wide.

He tilted his head and regarded her for a moment, then realized that this Prue was not _his _Prue. This Prue was young, probably no more than ten or eleven. Her hair was in pigtails, her brown eyes were staring at him with all the innocence of childhood. She was smiling, but the smile faded as he didn't answer right away, and then her face seemed to melt before his very eyes, and he wasn't looking at Prue anymore.

"Mom?"

"It is actually the dehydration that will kill you," Piper remarked. "The hunger... well, that is unpleasant. But you're close to death now, Chris. Dehydration death. And that's not fun."

Her tone was so careless, so matter-of-fact, that Chris found the courage and determination to reply boldly, "You are not real." His real mother would never have spoken about his death like that, in a purely academic manner. She would have been crying or at least trembling with emotion. And she would have sounded at least a little concerned.

Of course, his real mother was dead.

He rubbed his head again.

He must be hallucinating.

His mother shrank slightly, her hair becoming a little paler, a little longer. Brown eyes softened around the edges, a thin face fleshed out into a rounder oval shape, and Ria placed her hands on her hips and snapped irritably, "You aren't helping, Chris."

"Helping what?"

"The Resistance! Us. Me, Adam, Prue, Myst, David, Daryl, Monica. The world. Remember?"

"I can't help," Chris retorted, gesturing around him to the sort-of room that he was currently standing in. "In case you haven't noticed, I am otherwise occupied at the moment." The bed beneath him shifted and suddenly he thought he was falling... only he wasn't. It was the strangest sensation, as though his stomach and his heart were dropping through his body, falling into a deep void, while the rest of him remained behind and watched.

His head ached.

"It's just a room, Chris. Everything is always just rooms." Ria was reaching to him, but her fingers slipped away even as he tried to catch her hand, and then she was falling away from him, backwards and into nothing.

He opened his eyes with a start, and everything was dark and heavy and pushing down on him. His mouth was dry, but there was a bitter taste in it, an after-taste of something. Someone was moving around above him, the air was pressing down on his skin, shoving him into the bed, making him weak and sick. His skin felt clammy and damp with sweat, and the thing above him paused and looked down, peering through the gloom.

And then it was bright. So bright he had to close his eyes and fight against the pain that exploded in his head. So bright he thought the sun had just appeared in his room, burning everything around it into nothing more than singed ash. He gasped, and the oxygen flooded to his lungs, acrid and stale and freezing cold all at the same time.

He wondered vaguely if this is what it felt like to die.

"You aren't helping, Chris."

Was that Ria's voice? He wasn't sure. Where was she, anyway? She couldn't be here.

The room plunged back into darkness and the shapes above him disappeared. He was alone.

"You aren't helping, Chris."

* * *

_Day Six_

By noon the next day he was finally coherent enough to think, truly think. He had admitted defeat and downed the entire glass of water that Wyatt had conjured for him. He'd also eaten the sandwich he found at the side of his bed when he awoke in the morning. Although he saw it as weakening, as giving into Wyatt, he knew he really had no choice. He couldn't defy Wyatt by starving himself to death. His almost all-powerful older brother would probably figure out a way to trap his spirit here so he couldn't move on, stuck in this room forever.

And then he'd be no help at all to anyone.

His powers were gone. That was the first thing that he noticed, and he wasn't really surprised. They were just bound, which made him feel slightly better. At least Wyatt hadn't decided to strip them. That would be much more difficult for him to circumvent. Not that this way was going to be particularly easy.

The door to the room was locked and guarded by some spell he couldn't break. Even without his powers, he had the abilities of any normal witch. But Wyatt had clearly seen to it that his brother was not going to be escaping any time soon. He wondered what other traps lay outside the door.

He shivered, and realized in that moment that he really didn't want to know.

"Well, I'm glad you finally decided to be reasonable," Wyatt announced as he entered the room, letting his gaze wander to the empty glass and plate discarded on Chris' bed. He waved his hand idly at them and they disappeared.

"What do you want, Wyatt?" Chris asked firmly, glaring at his brother. He was not going to engage in some philosophical conversation with Wyatt. He didn't care what the other witch-lighter said, he was not going to let his words get twisted around until he was somehow justifying all the things he had been fighting against. Wyatt was good at things like that, and Chris was not going to fall for his tricks.

"Just to talk," Wyatt answered easily.

"I'm not going to talk to you," Chris snarled. "I don't care what you have to say, I'm not..."

"Look what I found," Wyatt interrupted, holding out a framed photograph. "It was in one of the old boxes from the Manor. I never got around to going through them, you know."

Chris took the frame and held it gingerly in his suddenly shaking hands. It was roughly carved, made from balsa wood and painted with a streaky dark red stain. He had made it for his grandfather when he was perhaps eight or nine, had labored carefully over every single cut of the knife against the light-weight wood, every stroke of the paintbrush. He remembered exactly how furious his mother had been when she realized he was using one of her good steak knives to do the carving. To this day, he still wasn't sure if she was more upset over the fact that her eight-year-old son was actually handling a knife, or the fact that he had managed to ruin the blade.

The picture was himself and Wyatt, both grinning ecstatically at the camera.

"Grandpa kept this by his bedside," Wyatt said softly. "Do you remember?"

Chris nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He rubbed one finger over the glass, tracing the lines of his face, noting the way he so casually leaned against Wyatt. Looking at this picture, he couldn't help but wonder how everything had fallen apart. The young boys in the picture looked carefree and filled with happy laughter, their hair blowing in the wind, their faces upturned towards the sun. But in only a few short years after that picture was taken...

"He loved it," Wyatt continued casually. "Remember how he used to say that this was proof that you would be a great artist when you grew up?" His features faded, falling into themselves, and he sighed, suddenly filled with grief. "I miss him."

"I do, too," Chris agreed, even knowing as he said the words that he was offering Wyatt a weapon. One way or another, his brother would use that simple admission against him.

But strangely, Wyatt said nothing. He just stared at the photograph, his expression unreadable. Finally, he admitted slowly, "I tried to summon him once." Chris jerked his head up sharply, surprised, but Wyatt lowered his gaze. "It didn't work. I couldn't... I couldn't see him."

"Where were you that day?" Chris asked suddenly, almost accusing. "When Grandpa died. Where were you?"

He could remember so clearly the horrified gasp that escaped his lips as his grandfather crumbled inwards, falling to the ground in the middle of the grocery store aisle. But Wyatt hadn't been there. Nobody had been there, not until Uncle Jason finally rushed in with Prue, Ria, and Adam in tow. In the hospital, he alone had held the withered hand, praying for a miracle that never came.

Wyatt paused for a moment, then said bluntly, "I was trapped Up There in a crystal cage while the Elders considered stripping my powers."

_"What?"  
_

Wyatt took the picture frame back and placed it on the desk by the window. He stared out at the magically created scene glimmering through the magically created window, and said, "I was Up There. With the Elders. And Dad." He turned and looked at Chris, and there was no lie in those eyes. Chris had some familiarity with lies, with deception. And this was Wyatt, this was his brother. Despite everything, he knew his brother, and he knew that Wyatt was telling the truth.

"I... I didn't know..."

Wyatt shrugged and switched his gaze back to the window. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."

"Why would Dad..."

Wyatt's gaze hardened at the question, and when he spoke, his tone was clipped and angry. "I guess he thought he was doing what was best."

"Maybe it would have been," Chris said before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth. Wyatt wasn't looking at him, but he could literally feel the fury that now radiated from his brother. Taking chances with a wrathful Halliwell was dangerous, even more so when that Halliwell was Wyatt. But the words were out of his mouth now, and he pressed on, knowing he'd already gone too far to take it all back. "Maybe you wouldn't have gone crazy, Wyatt. Maybe we would still be a family, instead of enemies. Maybe Dad was _right_."

"He wasn't."

"Are you sure about that?" Chris demanded. "You said all you wanted was to protect me. Would you have sacrificed your own powers, your dream of world domination, to still be my brother?"

Wyatt looked at Chris, then looked away. "Would you sacrifice me to save the world?"

"I..." Chris' mouth went dry.

Wyatt's lips turned up into a small smirk. "Nothing is ever that simple, is it, little brother?"

"Dad thought he..."

"Dad wasn't around enough to know. After Mom died, after the social workers wanted to take you away... Dad was hardly ever here. He was too busy _saving the world_ to be bothered with his family. Then he walks back into my life... our lives... without knowing anything about us and presumes to be able to do what is best for me? Do you know what it feels like when the Elders try to take away your powers? Do you have any idea just how much that _hurts_?"

Chris saw the way Wyatt's entire posture seemed to sag with that rush of words that came pouring from his mouth, as though he couldn't quite believe that his own father would have done something like that to him. Staring at his brother, Chris could see behind the facade of power and strength the little blonde boy who had hung on his father's every word, eager for Daddy's approval. He'd always teased Chris about being a Momma's boy, but he worshiped Leo just as much as Chris had worshiped Piper.

Some wounds cut deep, even for the all-powerful prophesied Twice Blessed Child.

"Dad locked me in a cage," Chris offered.

Wyatt stared at him, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. After..." He stopped short, the name Bianca dying on his lips. He couldn't think about her, even after all this time. It hurt far too much. "It was on Valhalla."

Wyatt blinked, frowning with concentration. "That big cage in the center cave?"

"Yeah."

"That sucks," Wyatt commented dryly.

"Yeah, it did."

"Well," Wyatt gave an unconcerned half-shrug, "I'm sure Dad was just doing what he thought was best." The unspoken words lingered in the air, and Chris knew they were laced with anger.

_He always did what he thought was best... and to hell with the rest of us._

Wyatt walked over to the door. "You can keep the picture frame. You are the one who made it, after all."

"Thanks," Chris muttered, staring at the picture on his desk.

The young Wyatt, forever wrapping his arm around Chris in a protective brotherly manner, stared back at him.

* * *

_Day Seven_

Chris scanned the book titles on the shelf, touching each cover carefully. _Catcher in the Rye. Shakespeare. The Great Gatsby. Harry Potter._

_Beginnings of Magic_?

He picked that one up, intrigued. It was a small book, bound with a leather cover. The title was etched into the cover with a fine-tipped tool, and the spine was covered in flowering engravings. He flipped it open to a random page in the beginning, and read.

_Contrary to popular opinion, magic did exist long before their were humans around to harness its powers. But it was a type of magic so foreign to contemporary witches that to call it magic may very well be like calling a chimpanzee a human. The two are related, but not identical. Magic then was neither dark nor light. It had no concepts of Good and Evil or Right and Wrong. It simply was. A force that made the world turn, that caused plants to grow and then wither and die. It is the oldest of olds, and it is far too easy to lose one's self in pursuing understanding of such a thing._

No concepts of Good and Evil. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. It figured that Wyatt would leave something like this for him to read.

He wanted to discard it, but for some strange reason, he felt a desire to continue reading. He turned to the very first page and scanned the initial paragraphs, looking for something more interesting.

_Modern concepts of Good and Evil are routed in cultural norms and understandings. What may be acceptable to one group of people, such as eating cow meat, is reprehensible and sacrilegious to another. Furthermore, even in a society so as our own that does not tolerate the taking of another's life, we consider it justified to kill in self-defense. In such contexts, it is impossible to say that there is an Absolute Good and an Absolute Evil._

_How, then, does this play into magical constructions of Good and Evil? If there is no absolute, what is it that defines demons as evil and witches as good?_

_We would argue that it is not, as we are originally taught, a state of being that creates Good and Evil. Rather, it is actions, and the motivations behind those actions, that cause these categories. Demons may do good things, and witches may perform evil actions. If a demon does primarily good deeds, can they be called Evil? Likewise, does a witch who murders constantly deserve to be considered Good?_

_Does it really matter?_

Chris closed the book with a snap. He didn't want to read any further.

He pulled out the Harry Potter book. It was number four in the series. He took it back to the chair by his desk and began to read, turning quickly through the pages until he had reached the very last chapter. He rested his hand on the old parchment, until his palm lay flat against the page.

Dumbledore was addressing the student body as they gathered before the train ride home.

_"Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory."_

Chris flung the book away from him, as hard as he could, and watched it flop onto the bed and then over the side and onto the floor, pages rumpled and bent askew. He was breathing heavily, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Harry Potter had defied a powerful wizard and saved the world. In the land of fairy tales and fiction, that was exactly what happens. There was a sharp line between what is Good and what is Easy, and people knew which side was which. The villain always looked inhuman, and sometimes was inhuman, and performed unspeakably dark rituals in the still of the night. Any evil was Evil, with a capital E, and the path to victory might be tangled and overgrown, but it was still there.

Lord Voldemort had been inhuman since day one. Lord Voldemort was never anything but a villain.

_Would you sacrifice me to save the world?_

_Nothing is ever that simple, is it, little brother?_

_I guess he thought he was doing what was best._

_... if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy..._

"What happens," Chris murmured aloud, "when neither choice is right, and neither choice is easy?"

* * *

_Day Eight_

Chris tried his best not to show the surprise he felt when Wyatt stepped into his room. At first he had expected his brother to be here every moment of every day, arguing with him, dragging him along on missions, trying to convince him that this was the right path. But Wyatt had only stopped in once since he had regained full consciousness.

"Hey," Wyatt greeted. "Do you want to go outside?"

"Outside?" Chris echoed.

"Yeah," Wyatt agreed, nodding towards the magical window. "There is a garden on the roof. It's really pretty. At least, that's what they tell me. I haven't been up there yet, not since the garden was completed. And it is a nice day out, so I thought you might like to see some sun."

"Is the garden new?" Chris asked, rising eagerly to his feet. Without his powers he would have no chance of escaping from anything located on the top of a building, but he was eager to see the real sun and blue sky and clouds. He was eager for the feel of fresh air, of gentle breezes, and the small of salt rising from the ocean stretching out to the west.

"Yes. I had it built when you... arrived. I thought you might want something like that."

"Oh." Chris rubbed the back of his head as he followed Wyatt from the room. It was hard, so hard, to judge the man standing in front of him. In those cold blue eyes he saw the person who had turned his back on everything good and right and allowed demons to take over. But then Wyatt would do something like this and he... Chris let out an angry breath. He just didn't know what to think. How could he possibly reconcile the cold-blooded killer who allowed his minions to create such havoc for the mortal and magical worlds with the witch who had just built a _garden _to please his younger brother?

After winding through several passages and up a flight of stairs, Chris found himself stepping through a door and blinking in the light. The sky was a soft blue, dotted with the occasional cloud, and the wind rustled through the branches of the trees. Japanese maples dug shallow roots into the dirt-and-grass-covered ground, and lines of flowers - pansies, snapdragons, tulips, lilies, and irises, intersected with a miniature fountain carved to look like a babbling brook. Through the branches of the trees, he could see the side of the roof, a sharp line running perpendicular to the plants. A railing prevented him from seeing exactly what was over the edge, but it was clear that they were several stories high.

"How...?"

"It's not magic," Wyatt said proudly. "I wanted it to be real, not just an illusion. I actually had people carry all the dirt up here. And the trees, the flowers. There are several feet of soil beneath us." He walked over to a bench, the sun reflecting off his blonde hair. He was grinning at Chris' wide-eyed expression, and in that moment Chris remembered why everyone had always referred to Wyatt as their little angel.

"It's beautiful," Chris whispered, awestruck despite his best efforts to remain neutral. After a pause, he added, "Mom would have loved it."

A look of sadness passed through Wyatt's eyes. "Yes," he agreed quietly. "She would have."

"Wy... I want to go back," Chris whispered. "I need to see how Ria and Adam are doing. I need to look after them. They don't have anybody."

"They have Prue," Wyatt countered.

Chris raised one eyebrow. "I think she's proved quite well that she doesn't actually care about us," he said pointedly, bitterly. The venom in his voice did not disguise the hurt or the sense of betrayal, and Wyatt simply stared at him, waiting for more. Finally, Chris said, "Don't you ever wonder? I mean... don't you want to know if they are alright?"

"If they were dead, I would feel it," Wyatt replied simply, bluntly.

"I don't mean just life or death," Chris replied, annoyed. "I mean... everything else. Emotionally. Mentally. You know..." He stopped and shrugged, taking a few steps closer to his brother. "Don't you ever want to know?"

Wyatt didn't answer right away. He looked down, his hands tightening around the edge of the stone bench until the rough line almost cut into his skin. Finally, he said, "No. I don't."

"I don't believe that," Chris argued stubbornly.

"Don't you?" Wyatt asked sardonically, lips curving into a smirk. "You've accused me of much worse things, Chris. You all have."

Chris turned away sharply, disappointment and disbelief warring within him for control. He _had _believed far worse of Wyatt than just not wondering about his cousins' emotional wellbeing. And he still believed so much of that. But he didn't want to. He so desperately wanted to find his brother beneath the creature that sat before him. He wanted to look into those eyes and see something that reminded him of family, of home. He _needed _to believe that there was some good in his brother... somewhere.

But he was starting to doubt.

"You can stay here as long as you would like," Wyatt said, rising to his feet. "I'll arrange it so that you can come back to the garden whenever you want, even if I am not around. You do not need to stay cooped up inside that room all day."

"I'm in a prison wherever I am, Wyatt," Chris answered, refusing to look at his brother. "It doesn't matter if there is sunlight or not."

"We make our own prisons, Chris. This could be your freedom, if you would just take a moment to understand what I am offering you."

"Power? Prestige? A kingdom of people who hate you?" Chris glanced at Wyatt, and found he could not look away. The words suddenly sounded petty and trite and yet he could not stop them from tumbling into the still air between them. "I already know what you offer, Wyatt. And I don't want it."

Wyatt continued to stare at Chris until finally, "I'm offering you a chance to stop fighting, Chris. A chance to be free of the burdens of protecting the Greater Good. I'm offering you normalcy." He smiled softly, lifting his eyes towards heaven. "It is everything Mom ever wanted for us."

"Not like this," Chris replied before walking away.

* * *

_Day Ten_

Chris pulled his legs into his chest and sat on the edge stone bench. He was alone, or at least that was the way it appeared. He doubted Wyatt would ever leave him completely alone, but he had yet to be able to sniff out the guard who might be watching him. Someone with the power of transmogrification, perhaps, or someone who could become invisible? He let his eyes wander the garden, but saw nothing.

He hadn't seen Wyatt in two days, and that was starting to bother him. He simply could not understand why his brother would have gone to all the trouble to kidnap him, and then decide he didn't want to be around him anymore.

The sun was hot. It occurred to Chris, a little belatedly, that he had no idea what day it was, or even what month of the year. Dates mattered little now, and he spent all of his time moving from one safe-house to the next, shifting constantly in an effort to stay one step ahead of Wyatt and his demons. It could be May, it could be August. It could be an unusually hot day in March. He had no idea, and no way of checking.

He made a mental note to ask Wyatt next time he saw his brother.

Closing his eyes, he strained his sensing powers. It was the one power that had remained after whatever spell or potion Wyatt had used to remove all the others. Once again, he was a little baffled by his brother's actions. Why would he care if Chris had sensing abilities? He knew Wyatt well enough to know this was not a simple oversight, but rather that he had specifically made the decision to give Chris this one small outlet.

On a whim, he decided to sense for the Twice Blessed. He closed his eyes, and found that he could not localize his brother's powers. They seemed to be spread out over the entire city. He doubted even Wyatt could orb fast enough to appear everywhere at once, and he was also pretty sure that his brother did not have cloning powers.

_It's a trick, an illusion. This way no one can find me, but they will feel my presence everywhere they go._

Wyatt's voice echoed clearly in his head, and Chris started.

"What? Are you psychic now, too? Can you read my mind?"

_No. But when you try to sense for me, it creates a link between our minds, so I can feel what you are feeling and hear what you are hearing. I can see what you are seeing, as well._

Chris winced. "I don't like that. It's like you're possessing me."

_Then stop trying to sense for me. I can only do this if you've already initiated the link._

"Fine." Chris snapped, a little annoyed at the egotistical and patronizing tone he could hear so plainly in his brother's thoughts. After a moment, he asked, "Can I do it to you?"

There was a pause.

_I don't know. Maybe. We could try, if you want._

"What do I do?"

_I'm going to sense for you. When you feel me reaching out for your mind, try to mentally grab onto my presence. It's not easy, and try to be careful. You could also end up severely hurting me._

"Really?"

_Don't get so excited. If you do, I'll just throw you out of my mind. But having your presence forcefully ejected... that might end up hurting you._

Chris stifled a chuckle at the dry sarcasm in Wyatt's tone. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then waited as he felt Wyatt's sensing for him. It was a tingling sensation along the back of his neck, so small that he probably would not have noticed it otherwise. He focused his attention on that feeling, and slowly, tentatively, reached out towards the source.

And then everything exploded.

There were colors dancing in front of his eyes, and the sound of something long and high-pitched, punctuated by a heavy ringing noise every few seconds. It was hot, and then cold, and then hot again, and the world was spinning nearly out of control.

_Focus! You need to focus!_

The voice seemed to come at him from a distance, but he could hear the palpable worry. But try as he might, he couldn't focus. Everything was fading around the edges of his vision, and then he felt something hit him mentally, and he fell forward, crashing to his hands and knees in front of the bench.

Only he wasn't in the garden anymore.

He was in the Underworld.

Several demons were standing before him, staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe. The flickering light from the torches that lined the walls cast shadows along the floor, hiding a few others from view.

It took Chris a moment to realize he was in Wyatt's mind, seeing what Wyatt was seeing.

_Sorry. I guess I didn't realize how hard it was. I've had more practice, I'm used to it. But you kind of got lost there, so I had to pull you into my mind._

"Am I stuck?" Chris asked, somewhat horrified by the idea that he would forever see the world through Wyatt's eyes.

_No. I can always kick you out. But like I said, that would be painful. Let me see if I can guide you through it. If you get out yourself, it won't hurt as much._

"My Lord," one of the demons said, approaching and bowing his head to Wyatt. "We did not mean to disobey you."

Chris felt Wyatt's anger flare, and watched the demons cower. It was a strange experience, being inside Wyatt's mind. He could feel a simmering fury directed at these demons, as well as an underlying sense of frustration at the situation in general. There was something else... was it loneliness? He couldn't quite be sure.

"I gave an explicit order," Wyatt said, his voice rebounding off the walls and echoing through the suddenly still cave. "How could you possibly claim to have _misunderstood_ it?" His voice was menacing, cold, and so different from the gentle mental brush that Chris associated with Wyatt speaking to him inside his own mind.

"We..." the demon started, head still bowed respectfully, but before he could even finish the thought, one of his comrades stepped forward and through back his hood, revealing pointed teeth and inky black eyes.

"How dare you give us orders, you arrogant witch. I will not let some egotistical Halliwell treat us like slaves. You are not..."

The demon screamed suddenly as fire consumed his body, and a moment later he was nothing more than a swirl of ash in the air that floated gently towards the dirt floor.

"Does anyone else have a problem following my orders?" Wyatt asked tersely.

No one spoke, no one dared to even breathe.

"Good."

_Think of yourself moving upwards. Imagine me as... as quick sand. You want to get out, but you also don't want to flail around a lot. That will only get you stuck even more tightly. Try to... imagine yourself floating upwards. Towards freedom. Towards the sky._

Chris did his best to follow Wyatt's instructions, but it was difficult. The more he fought against the power holding him trapped within, the more he sank downwards, farther into the abyss. He was also too interested in the scene playing out before him, the one he was seeing through Wyatt's eyes. He wanted to know what had happened to anger Wyatt, and what would happen now that the dissenting demon was gone.

_Focus._

Wyatt's voice was gently chiding.

"Easy for you to say," Chris grumbled. "You've done this before."

He heard Wyatt's distinctive laughter, but then the Twice Blessed turned his attention back to the demons. "My orders were simple. You are to find Barbus and destroy him. You are not, under any circumstances, to attack Daryl Morris. Do I make myself clear?"

The demons bowed quickly, ungracefully. "Y-yes," came the mumbled responses, and several of the demons shimmered or blinked away. Only one remained, the one who had spoken first, clearly the leader of the group.

"Lord Wyatt..." the demon began, clearly venturing onto thin ice. He stared nervously as Wyatt, waiting for some sign of approval or permission in the Twice Blessed eyes.

Chris felt the momentary stab of annoyance from Wyatt, and then Wyatt himself answered with a resigned sigh, "Yes?"

"By demanding that we not kill the human, you only make him a more likely target for those who oppose you."

This time, the feeling that passed through Wyatt was so unmistakably plain that Chris did a double-take at its strength. It was grief.

"I know," Wyatt said, his tone angry, the sharpness masking the unpleasant feelings beneath. "You do not need to tell me the consequences of my actions." He turned away from the demon, waving his hand in what was clear dismissal, and then turned his attention back to Chris.

_Aren't you supposed to be leaving?_

"I don't know how," Chris complained, trying quickly to cover the conflicted emotions he felt.

_I told you. Focus on floating up. Out._

"Not helping, Wyatt."

_Imagine you are in a pool. You're at the bottom. If you kick you feet lightly against the bottom of the pool, you will float towards the surface. You don't need to try to claw your way out. Just... float._

Chris tried to imagine this, doing his best to follow Wyatt's advice. He closed his eyes and drew a slow breath, then kicked out with his feet, hoping that the mental action would push him forward.

_Ow! I said lightly, Chris. Kick lightly!_

But he was floating now, the strangest sensation, moving upwards as though he had been caught on the wind. Carried along by a current that was guiding him towards something. Towards the light? The garden was suddenly just above him, and he reached out for it, fingers scraping against the stone bench, grasping for traction.

And then he was on his knees, the cool breeze whipping around him as he let himself drop forward onto the soft grass of the roof-top garden, thankful to be back in reality.

"Obviously, you are going to need to work on that," a voice quipped, and Wyatt appeared in a swirl of black and blue orbs. "You are, perhaps, the clumsiest person I have ever met. Even your mental self is clumsy. It's like you've got two left feet. Or maybe twelve left feet."

"Well, it is the first time I've done anything like that," Chris answered, rubbing his head. "So... what was this about attacking Daryl?"

Wyatt sighed. "Barbus has been having some fun with your pathetic little Resistance. That alone would not bother me, but he targeted Ria. He's been trying my patience and escaping my power for days now, and I had to teach him a lesson. Unfortunately, when I sent a few of my demons after him, Daryl was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He got hurt." He paused, regretfully, then hurried on to say, "He's fine, though. Not dead. Nothing a white-lighter couldn't heal."

"Daryl isn't even part of the Resistance."

Wyatt gave Chris a long look, then said simply, "No. But he's practically family. And that alone puts him in danger for any of my dissenting demons." Again, a pause, then he said, "Declaring him off-limits adds to the desire others feel to kill him. But I have no other way of protecting him. I have a few shape-shifters keeping an eye on him now, you know. He doesn't know they're my demons, but if Barbus is stupid enough to attack again..." He trailed off with a satisfied grin. "He'll get what's coming to him."

Chris rubbed his head again and tried to understand just how someone who could be so callously cruel as to let people die without really caring could also go to so much trouble to protect a virtual family member. Why did Wyatt even care about Daryl? It was his demons that had killed Shelia and the kids, and yet he claimed to feel sympathy for the remaining father?

"Do you ever use that little power of yours to see into the Resistance?" Chris asked finally.

Wyatt shook his head. "You would know if I was looking through your eyes. You would be able to feel it."

This was a little comfort to Chris, who had been worried that he had unknowingly allowed Wyatt access to the Resistance on more than one occasion. Feeling a bit better, he asked, "So, are you going to help me practice that gift?"

"If you want," Wyatt agreed. "It only works with white-lighters. So you could only use it with Adam and Ria. And myself, of course."

Chris nodded. "Of course." He pulled himself to his feet and took a seat on the stone bench. A moment later, Wyatt sat down next to him, and for a few minutes they stared in silence at the cerulean blue sky. Finally, Chris asked, "Aren't you worried that I'll use this new-found skill to contact Ria or Adam?"

Wyatt shrugged. "You can contact them all you want, Chris. Although, if I were you, I'd be careful. Neither of them are used to this sort of communication, and it could hurt them. And you."

Chris remembered what it had felt like as he tried to fight his way through the void towards Wyatt, and gave a little shiver. He did not want to attempt that again, and he certainly did not want to inflict the resulting headache on either of his cousins. But if it helped him escape...

"It won't, you know," Wyatt said quietly. Chris looked at him sharply, and he continued, "It won't help you escape. Do you really think Ria and Adam don't know where you are? Prue will have told them. Told everyone. But this place is too well guarded, and if they try to break in... well, someone might get hurt."

"You would hurt them?" Chris hissed, jumping to his feet. "What happened to all that nonsense you were spouting about Daryl being family, then? I thought you didn't want to hurt family!"

"First of all," Wyatt said coldly, rising to his feet as well, "I did not say I would hurt Ria or Adam. I would _never_ do that to them. Second, Daryl hasn't joined your Resistance. He hasn't turned his back on everything I fought for. He might not be on my side, but he isn't completely against me, either." He looked away. "But we both know Ria and Adam would come after you, and they would not come alone. So if they brought those friends of yours... Myst, I believe her name is, and David? They are the ones who will end up getting hurt."

"You bastard," Chris hissed at the thought of any harm coming to Myst. He simply could not stand the idea of his best friend being hurt by his brother.

Wyatt twisted to meet his gaze. "That's not a very nice thing to say about Mom."

Chris turned his back on his brother. "Go away, Wyatt. I don't want to talk to you."

"Fine. But if you want to practice this new trick so that you can talk to Ria and Adam, all you have to do is call my name."

* * *

_Day Eleven_

Chris pushed the food around on his plate. He had been invited to eat dinner with Wyatt, and found himself sitting in a replica of the Manor's kitchen, eating fettuccine and broccoli in a lemon-garlic sauce. Wyatt, he knew perfectly well, could not cook. At all. He wondered where the food had come from, but didn't care enough to ask.

"Why aren't you eating?" Wyatt demanded. He'd already finished his serving and had helped himself to seconds. "Are you still trying to starve yourself?"

"I'm not hungry," Chris muttered in reply.

"You barely ate lunch!" Wyatt interjected disapprovingly. "Mom would not be happy."

"There are a lot of things Mom would not be happy about," Chris answered calmly, "and I think my eating habits is the least of them."

Wyatt placed his fork and knife on the table and said with a sigh of resignation. "Fine. You want to have that conversation? Go ahead. Call me horrible names. Tell me I'm ruining the world. Believe it or not, Chris, I've gotten used to your skewed opinions and accusations."

"Oh, so now I'm the evil?" Chris asked bitterly.

"There is no evil, Chris," Wyatt answered patiently. "How many times do we have to go over this? Why do you insist on staying stuck in those outdated mores?"

"They aren't outdated," Chris retorted. "You can't just dismiss them because you want to." The replica-kitchen was empty, Chris noted silently. He wondered vaguely if Wyatt had spies lurking in the hallways, listening to this argument. What would they think of their Lord if he couldn't even control his younger brother?

"So what would you prefer?" Wyatt asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. "A world where we all fight constantly,_ every single second_, just to survive? Where life is short for those of us who supposedly fight the good fight, because we're being killed by demons _every single day_? Is that what you want, Chris? Because that is the life Mom lead. That is the life that got her killed. And it would kill you as well."

Chris felt the burning of unshed tears as he remembered his mother's broken body, but he forced himself not to show emotion. Instead, he met Wyatt's steady sky-blue gaze, and answered in a tone of barely concealed frustration, "It is far better than a life where you do not see your family, even though they are still alive."

"I see my family," Wyatt answered. "My little brother is sitting right in front of me."

Chris lowered his gaze, abruptly far too weary to find an argument or rebuttal. One moment, Wyatt was concerned about his eating, or worried that he might be missing Adam and Ria. The next, he was casually discussing world domination and the complete subjugation of good and innocence and everything his mother and aunts had ever fought for as though they didn't matter, as though it _wasn't_ wrong, evil.

Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing at all.

"I just don't want the constant fighting, Chris. I don't want to see you waste your life the way Mom and Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe wasted theirs. To fight, all the time. To have life determined half by luck and half by circumstances you never had any control over in the first place."

"Oh, but there is grandeur in this view of life."

Wyatt blinked. "What?"

Chris looked away. "It's from Darwin. _On the Origin of Species_. I... Mom got me the book for my fourteen birthday." And then she died. He did not finish the thought, although he could tell by the softening of Wyatt's eyes that his brother had heard the silent words. He choked back a sob and continued, "It got destroyed. A stray energy ball in a fight with demons. When I was seventeen."

Wyatt looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't... remember."

Chris closed his eyes and pictured his mother. "I miss her."

"I know. I do, too."

* * *

_Day Twelve_

Chris glanced around the room. He was bored. Wyatt was, once again, off on some mission that required his full attention, and Chris had been left under the watchful eyes of the demons that lingered just outside his bedroom door. They at least had the decency not to come in, not to show themselves to him. He had an inkling that it might have been Wyatt's orders that kept them out of sight.

He closed his eyes and focused on Wyatt, reaching out towards the other's mind. He felt a tingling presence in the void that surrounded his senses, and he forced himself into it.

_Clumsy, still. You're lucky I felt you sensing for me or that would have been quite a bit more painful._

The young witch was on her knees, tears streaming down her face. "Please,' she begged, and behind her another man, probably her father, struggled against the demons who held his captive, "don't hurt me. Or my Dad. Please!"

"What's going on?" Chris asked, appalled to see this girl so distraught. "Wyatt, what are you doing?" He tried to look away, but he couldn't close his eyes. He was seeing this through Wyatt, and Wyatt was not even so much as flinching at the horror of this sobbing witch.

_You chose an inopportune moment, Chris_. The tone was downright sarcastic, and had the situation been any different, Chris might have laughed at his brother's words.

There was nothing to laugh about here.

"Why should I show you mercy, witch, when you showed me none?" Wyatt asked, his voice dangerously soft as he approached the girl. He was holding an athame in his hand. He held it out to the witch and said, "You would have stabbed this into my chest, had you not been apprehended by my demons. You wanted to kill me. Why should I do any less to you?"

"No! Don't hurt her!" the father cried, his voice raw with panic. "It's my fault. I'm the one who told her to attack you. It's my fault."  
"I am well aware that you were behind the attack, fool," Wyatt spat, "and you'll meet the same end your daughter does. Both of you have plotted against me, and the punishment for that is clear."

"You murderer! You disgust me. How could a Halliwell have turned so evil?" the father snarled in response, his face flushing red in anger.

Wyatt made a fist with his hand, and the father suddenly gasped and reached up to touch his throat with one hand. His face had drained off all color, and as he struggled for oxygen, his eyes widened in realization that his death was near at hand.

"There is no such thing as Good and Evil!" Wyatt said in a firm voice, his words reverberating through the air.

"Wyatt, stop it! You're torturing him. He's innocent, you can't do that!" Chris cried, half-demanding, half-pleading. He wished he could somehow control Wyatt's actions. If he had to see the world through Wyatt's eyes, why did he have to be so helpless to do anything as his brother destroyed it?

_Innocent? He tried to murder me, Chris!_ This time, Wyatt's tone was unmistakably hurt.

"It doesn't matter," Chris replied in a growing panic, "you can't just kill him. He's human. And the girl couldn't be older than Ria. Don't you see what you're doing is wrong?"

_How could defending myself be wrong?_

"Wyatt, please..."

And then Wyatt forcefully pushed him out, and as pain exploded in his head and stars danced before his eyes, he heard the young witch give a final scream and saw her father topple over, dead.

And then everything went black.

* * *

_Day Thirteen_  
"Get out, Wyatt!" Chris hissed the moment the door opened and his brother stepped through. "I have nothing to say to you. Not now, not ever."

"Oh, that hurts," Wyatt said, his tone mocking. "Stop being such a stubborn brat, Chris. You are acting like a child."

"Yeah? Well, at least I'm not a murderer."_  
_

"You brought me a present?" Chris asked, surprised as he took the wrapped book from Wyatt's hands. He lifted jade green eyes, full of suspicion and stared hard at his brother. "Why?

What's the catch? Does it explode?" When Wyatt didn't answer, he said again, "Why did you bring me a present?"

"What do you mean?" Wyatt said, giving him a blank look. "Did you think I would forget?"

"Forget what?" Chris asked, running his hand over the smooth paper. "I don't understand. What's the occasion?"

Wyatt sat down on the edge of the bed. "It's your birthday, Chris." He smiled, then added, "I would have made you a cake, but we both know I didn't inherit Mom's cooking ability. I'd probably just poison you. I sent someone out to buy you a cake at the nearby grocery store. Chocolate, with mint icing. I ordered it specially for you." He gave Chris another smile, then asked anxiously, "That is still your favorite, right? I wasn't sure."

"Yeah," Chris whispered. "It's my favorite."

Nothing made sense anymore.

"I figured we'd have it after lunch," Wyatt said. "But you should open your present now."

Chris did as he was told, carefully peeling back the paper and exposing the book underneath. He turned the heavy volume over in his hands, reading the title.

_Charles Darwin; On the Origin of Species_.


	42. The Definition of Insanity

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So, here's the deal; I'm going on vacation, away from both my computer and the Internet, for about a month. Which means the next chapter in this story will not be up for a month. But I will try to update soon after I get back.

Also, this chapter switches back to Ria, Adam, Myst, and Prue. So the rest of the confrontation between Chris and Wyatt (and that will turn sour pretty quickly) won't happen until the chapter after this... in a month. Sorry.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two: The Definition of Insanity

_They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results._

_Day One..._

Ria shook Adam quickly, frantically, trying to bring color back into his pale skin. His face was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and his lips were partially open, trembling. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes seemed to roam back and forth, caught up in some nightmare he could not escape.

Myst stepped into the room. "I can't find Chris anywhere. How is Adam?"

"He cast the spell!" Ria hissed, her fear rapidly turning into anger. "I told him it was a bad idea, but he had to go..." She gestured towards her unconscious brother, tears of helpless frustration in her eyes. "I don't know how to wake him up."

"Write a new spell?" Myst suggested.

Ria shook her head. "I can't. That might make it worse." She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Myst. "What do you mean, you can't find Chris?"

"He's not here. Not anywhere. Do you sense him?" Myst replied worriedly, waiting for Ria to confirm her fears.

The witch-lighter closed her eyes and searched for her cousin. She found nothing, and snapped her head back to look at Myst, apprehension growing in the pit of her stomach. "Keep looking for him. I'll see what I can figure out about Adam."

Myst nodded and left the room.

Ria waited until the other woman was gone, until the echoing footsteps faded completely, before turning back to unconscious brother. She had no idea hat had happened exactly, or how he had ended up like this. The spell he had cast was well written, but that was not enough to protect him from whatever magics had pulled him into his own head. And how was she supposed to get him back now?

She could think of only one way. If he was trapped in his own mind, then she would go in after him.

"I call upon the ancient powers

to help me in this desperate hour.

Take me to my brother's mind,

so that his spirit I can find."

And then everything was spinning in brilliant circles and spirals of color and feelings and noise. She was gone, drifting on the wind, so far away that nothing seemed real anymore, nothing made sense. The world was fog and mist and water rushing down a sloping hill, and a sun burning, snow falling, rain dripping from the open sky. She was hot and cold and so small and so giant and then...

_"It doesn't get any better."_

_Ria started, turned sharply towards the voice. Adam was standing next to her, staring at something. She twisted to follow his gaze and found herself looking at her mother. She was on her knees before a grave, sobbing. Her body shook under the violent tremors, and her eyes were rimmed red. Dark shadows formed half-circles just beneath those teary eyes, accentuating the paleness of her skin._

_"What...?"_

_Adam turned back towards Ria with a heavy sigh. "I've been here forever, it seems. It doesn't change. Mom... she just keeps sobbing. Like the vision is on some sort of time-loop. I don't understand why I can't leave."_

_"What... happened?" Ria asked, gesturing towards Paige._

_"I don't know," Adam answered. "I can't see who is on the tombstone. Every time I try to walk around her, the vision changes, moves away. Like it doesn't want me to see." With a frustrated groan, he muttered, "I just don't understand."_

_Ria clicked her tongue disapprovingly, "I told you this was a bad idea."_

_Adam frowned in response. "I think I learned what I needed to know. Or... at least... enough."_

_"Which is little help to anyone if we don't get out of here," Ria retorted with a snap._

_Adan's lips thinned, and he replied, "It is enough to save the world. I think, anyway. That was worth it. That was worth the risk."_

_Ria quirked one eyebrow in surprise. "I see." She did not press further, as she had no doubt that Adam would tell her everything in time. Right now, she was concerned about finding a way out of this vision. She glanced back at her mother and winced. She did not like to see anyone this upset, this haunted, this hopeless, but least of all a family member. Least of all her mother. She clenched her hands tightly, nails biting into the skin._

_Adam, too, seemed unable to watch. He looked away, towards the dismally gray sky._

_"Can you think about something else?" Ria questioned. At Adam's befuddled look, she explained, "Well, it is your mind. Can't you just try to..."_

_"If it was that simple," Adam interrupted, rolling his eyes at his sister, "don't you think I would have done it already?"_

_"This is your mind, Adam. Even a spell should not have the ability to keep you in this vision forever if you just try hard enough to get free."_

_Adam almost snorted in disbelief. "Try hard enough?" he echoed. "You think I wasn't trying before?"_

_Ria hissed out a long breath, annoyed. "You know that is not what I meant," she answered firmly, glaring at her younger brother._

_"Isn't it?" Adam retorted pointedly. He moved away from Ria, a few faltering steps that unintentionally brought him directly in front of his mother. He could not watch her, could not allow himself to see that raw pain, the heartache burning so desperately in her heart. But he also could not tear his eyes away from her. He swallowed nervously. __"Stop treating me like a child."_

_"Stop treating me like your enemy," Ria shot back, flushed darkly._

_Adam whirled on her, but her gaze had dropped to the ground, and she did not see the fury in his eyes. He sighed, the anger seeming to drain. "I don't. But I wish you would face the reality of this. I am older than you were when you started fighting demons. I know I am your brother, but you are my sister. It is not easy for me to watch you go off to fight Wyatt's forces, but I do it. I let you go."_

_She looked up, just for a moment. Something flickered in her eyes, and then she said in a barely audible voice, "You've never seen death."_

_Adam's eyes widened. "I've seen it quite a lot, actually."_

_"You've never seen the death of anyone in our family, of any of our friends," she corrected, and that much was true. He looked at her, and she forced her gaze back to his unflinching eyes. "Do you know what Dad looked like when he died?"_

_"I..." Adam stopped, shook his head. "The dream you had, of Dad when he died... I didn't realize you... saw."_

_She looked at him, then past him to her perpetually sobbing mother. The images flashed before her eyes, memories of the nightmare that had become so real the moment Daryl appeared at her door, a bearer of ill tidings. She could see her father's face, distorted in fear, in anguish, and in the deep twisted desire for revenge. She could smell the blood, the burning flesh, and hear the final scream of agony that lingered in the air, reverberating long after death had settled through his body and shuttered his eyes._

_"But I did see," she murmured, focus back to her mother. "And so did Mom."_

_Adam hesitated. The look in his sister's eyes, a combination of resigned grief and simmering fury, unnerved him. He had seen it only two other times; when they learned of Uncle Jason and Uncle Leo's deaths. The frustration at her mothering that had tightened so strongly around his heart lessoned slightly, and he suddenly wanted so badly to take her away from this place, from his still-sobbing mother and the visions of loss. The desire to protect a family member, a sibling, was so strong, so filled with fiery determination. So much stronger than simple survival, than the desire to save one's own life. It beat in his chest, pounding heavily, so heavily that he had no choice but to given in to it._

_He thought of the safe-house. Thought with all his strength until his knees gave out and he collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Ria was moving towards his side, panic written along the lines of her face, but before she could reach him the vision was changing, shifting, fading. It swirled around, and suddenly he was behind his mother, staring past her towards the grave sight._

A moment later, and the vision was gone, and he was back in the safe-house, starting awake with a violent gasp for air.

"Adam?" Ria asked frantically, her hands running along his forehead, checking for bumps or bruises, for a fever. "Are you...?"

"I'm fine," Adam choked out, sitting up. "Fine. Really."

Ria nodded, pushing herself away from him and giving him a chance to stand up. She inhaled slowly, then exhaled all at once. "How did you get us out?"

Adam shook his head. "I just... wanted it. Badly." Because I couldn't stand to see you looking at Mom like that. He faltered, then, "I... I'm sorry I almost got you trapped in there with me. But I am glad you came." I was not strong enough to save myself, but I would never have left you.

Ria smiled, a smile that faded almost instantly as she remembered, "Chris is still missing!" And she rushed from the room, Adam close at her heels.

At the door, however, the younger of the two paused and looked back towards the bed, towards the spell he had written on the wrinkled sheet of paper and left discarded on his blankets. He had seen what Ria had missed, in that brief moment as the vision twisted, just before it all ended and he had been brought back here.

He had seen the name on the tombstone that caused his mother to cry endless tears.

_Kyle Brody, beloved husband and father. May he rest in peace._

* * *

_Day Two..._

"You what?"

The room was completely still. Prue, standing before her two cousins with a defiant expression on her face, took in the fury and disbelief in Ria's gaze but refused to back down. She would not let herself be intimidated by anyone, least of all her younger cousins.

"I did what I had to do for the good of this world," Prue replied, her words tinged with anger at their inability to understand. How quick they were to lay the blame on her, but didn't they see that she was only trying to help? "I'm trying to save us all." Unlike Chris, she was willing to face the reality of this new world - that Wyatt could not be saved, that he was the new evil. She would not waste time wishing for what could have been. It was time they all started living in the present, in the here and now.

"Chris is our family," Ria snarled. "Your family." The witch-lighter took a deep breath to keep herself from physically attacking Prue. It would not help Chris to spend time laying blame and arguing over various justifications. But she couldn't quite quench the righteous anger that burned in her veins. "How could you do this to him? How could you sell him out?"

"Because I am trying to save the world!" Ria shot back, flushed with a dark wrath. "Why can't you understand that?"

Adam, who had remained quiet through Prue's confession and Ria's subsequent outburst, said finally, "At the expense of your family?" His words were soft, but his expression was filled with disappointment and disquiet. And fear. "You would just trade your family for that?" His mother and aunts had not just given up, had not just sold each other out to whichever evil held sway. They had already lost Wyatt to the corruption and twisted morals of his new regime. Were they losing Prue as well?

Prue let her arms drop to her side. "You're doing the same," she countered, eyes narrowed, focused on Adam.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ria interjected before Adam could answer Prue's statement.

"It means," Prue replied in a tone that was somehow filled with both grief and determination, "that if you can't save Wyatt, we both know you intend on stopping him, no matter what it takes." She paused slightly, allowing the reality of her implications to sink in, before continuing, "And isn't he family as well?"

There was a deadly accuracy to her words that Ria could find no argument for. The older witch-lighter turned and marched from the room in a huff, letting the door slam shut behind her. Adam remained still, staring hard at Prue, trying to read her features, scrutinize the emotions behind her eyes. His own face held nothing but sadness, and the telltale flicker of annoyance which plainly showed Prue that he did not agree with her arguments.

She licked her dry lips. "You can pretend all you want that there is another solution. But there isn't, Adam. This is the new world, and it isn't going to change overnight. Wyatt won't come back to us just because we want him to."

"And now neither will Chris," Adam answered, and walked from the room.

* * *

_Day Five..._

They found nothing.

Three days of searching, and it was as though Chris had just completely disappeared. The few demons who they captured all killed themselves before they could be forced to reveal the witch-lighter's whereabouts. Wyatt, it seemed, had strictly ordered that they keep their mouth shut, and his minions were frightened enough to do as he told. His punishments were worse than hell anyway.

They felt helpless. Hopeless. How could they rescue Chris if they did not even know where he was?

No one suggested the unthinkable. They spoke about him in the present tense, with all the firm determination that he was still alive.

They had been forced to switch safe-houses again. It was a pain, for all of them, but still necessary. Word of their efforts to locate their missing family member had reached Wyatt's ears, and he had directed more of his resources at finding them.

Ria leaned against the wall of the dusty basement, tears welling in her brown eyes. She had not spoken to Prue since their argument three days prior, and the other girl had kept her distance. But every time she passed Prue, there was a look in those eyes that made her hesitate, made her want to call out. She wasn't sure if she wanted to forgive or curse Prue, but the silence was becoming unbearable.

"I understand your desire for quiet, but this place is rather... depressing."

Ria jerked her head towards the source of the voice and found Myst standing at the top of the stairs, David behind her. She gave a faint smile and a little shrug, before replying, "I guess I just haven't had the chance to decorate yet. Maybe tomorrow."

"Hm..." David answered with a smile. He stepped past Myst and walked down the stairs, dropping to his knees next to Ria. His black hair was long, she thought with a little amusement. Lila would have badgered him about cutting it, even though the world had gone to hell, even though they were at war. Lila had little quirks like that but...

But Lila was dead.

Ria pushed the thought away with as much force as she could muster, but not before the sadness settled into her eyes. Lila, the first of the adults outside the Halliwell family to offer her protection and guidance after Wyatt's take-over. Her death had deprived Ria and Adam of a friend, and David of his love.

She dropped her eyes back to the floor.

"We will find him," David said firmly, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I promise."

Ria looked over his shoulder towards Myst, who still stood at the top of the stairs. She had said little to anyone, least of all Ria, since the two had exchanged brief but heated words on the matter of Chris. She felt as though she should say something to the woman, but what? She could hardly apologize for what she had said, given that it was all true. But Chris' disappearance had hit Myst hard, perhaps even as hard as it had hit Ria and Adam, and she looked nearly at her breaking point.

And that terrified Ria.

Valkeries did not break.

Before she could think of anything to say, however, Myst turned and walked away.

* * *

_Day Six..._

Everything changed in the blink of an eye.

They were on yet another hunt for Chris, and this time Ria was completely fed up with the entire situation. They'd gotten a few leads from the demonic factions that were opposed to Wyatt's rule, but it simply wasn't enough to find him. It was as though Fate was taunting them, dangling the clues just beyond their reach. Her anger, which was so close to the surface these days, so able to jump out at anything and anyone, turned her gaze to a fiery red, a haze of rage that kept her from seeing anything clearly.

Looking back on it, she thought that might be why she never saw it coming.

But in a blink of an eye, one moment in time, and everything was suddenly different.

The demon they had been interrogating was helpful. That alone should have tipped them off. But it didn't.

Adam was the first to register the danger, although his realization was too late to save him from the dark-lighter arrow that pierced his back and sent him toppling forward to the floor. Blood spewed out, gushing to the floor, forming a small pool of crimson red. His cry of pain and horror froze on his lips as the poison entered his system, and a moment later he was still, lifeless.

And Ria felt... nothing.

Myst, who had been standing nearest to Adam, dropped to her knees besides the boy, checking for any sign of life. Her actions were cut off by the reappearance of the dark-lighter, this time accompanied by two demons. Myst rose, eyes widening with surprise and then narrowing with rage, and her fingers tightened their grasp on the thin knife she carried in one hand. But even a trained warrior was no match for these demons. The fight was brief and brutal, and Myst crumpled like a rag doll, her body broken. The sickening thud of her head hitting the ground left Ria with the tiniest flicker of guilt, but then it was gone and she...

Still felt nothing.

"No," she said allowed, staring hard at the demons. "This isn't... No."

"Isn't what, witch?" the dark-lighter asked as he took aim. The firing mechanism released, and as the arrow sailed towards her, the only thought that entered her mind was that she was fairly certain this was not the way she was supposed to die. And then...

She woke up.

The room was dark, lit only by a sliver of light coming on from the window. It was one of the first safe-houses that they had occupied in which the bedrooms were above ground. It made her feel uneasy as night, because she knew anyone could slip in through the window, no matter the protection spells they laced around the building. Demons found loop holes, one way or another.

In the darkness, she saw something move, a figure disappearing. A demon? She wasn't sure.

She reached over to the light next to her bed and turned it on just as the door to her room opened and Prue came barrelling in, hands in front of her, flames licking at her fingers. She paused, suddenly confused. "Where's the demon?"

"What?" Ria asked, biting off the words as she glared at her cousin.

Prue swallowed anxiously. "You were screaming. I thought..." She trailed off. "What happened to your hair?"

Ria turned to the mirror across from her bed and studied her reflection. Her hair, she saw, was streaked with strands of white.

Her gaze flickered back to Prue. "Didn't realize you actually cared," she spat, suddenly livid.

Prue rocked back on her heels. "Myst says you fought off Barbus before," she answered, ignoring Ria's anger. She knew exactly what those strands of white meant, knew the demon that could make someone literally die of fear. "Why couldn't you do it this time?" Ria didn't answer, and Prue huffed impatiently. "If Barbus found the safe-house, we need to move again."

Ria swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "Why bother? Aren't you just going to sell us out to Wyatt in the end?"

Prue looked at her, then dropped her gaze. "You do what you have to for the good of the world. For someone who is content to just murder Wyatt, you're a little quick to judge my actions. Chris is still alive, which is more than anyone will be able to say about Wyatt if you get your way."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Ria snapped, flushing. Her brown-and-white hair fell in front of her face, and she pushed it away impatiently. "The situations are completely different."

"Of course they are," Prue replied, her lips twisting into an ugly smirk. "Because Chris is family and Wyatt is... what? What is he, Ria, if not family?"

"You're the one who spoke of killing him as the only solution," Ria shot back.

"And I'd do it in a heartbeat if I had to," Prue agreed. "But, then again, I am also the one who sold out Chris to save the world." She turned away, towards the door, her expression blank and unreadable. "Well, look on the positive side. At least I'm not hypocritical about it. At least I don't pick and choose which cousin it is okay to sacrifice for the greater good."

"That's not..." Ria gave a frustrated sigh as Prue left the room, not even sparing a backwards glance. She sank back onto her bed, thinking.

Her greatest fear was not to watch her family die. It was to watch them die... and not care. And Prue was right, she had been able to fight through that particular fear before. Barbus had not held sway over her when he attacked in the alley, even though the demon had nearly destroyed Chirs and Myst. Ria had been strong enough then to know, beyond all doubts, that she would not become that person. She would always care. Always.

And yet...

Did she even feel remorse at the idea of killing Wyatt? Did it bother her at all?

Was that why she couldn't defeat Barbus, couldn't throw off his magic, this time around?

She buried her head in her hands, eyes shut against the light. Prue had come running into the room, prepared to fight, not caring about whatever danger might await her. She'd been scared. That expression on her face, that fear, that terror, it was real. She had truly believed that Ria was in trouble, and she had come to defend her cousin without a single thought for her own safety. Prue had heard her screams, her calls for help, and Adam had not. David had not. Myst had not.

In a fit of rage, she grabbed a pillow and hurtled it against the wall.

Why couldn't things just be easy?

Wrapped up in thinking about the unfairness of life, she did not hear the shimmering of a demon returning or the dark orbs of his dark-lighter companion, did not have time to wonder how the evil had gotten past their wards again, did not register the pain until she had already fallen forward, the poison-tipped arrow protruding from her back.

She did not even have a chance to call for help.

But help had a way of finding her, and before the world faded to complete darkness, she saw a burst of fire consume the room, heard the scream of anguish from a dark-lighter, and saw Prue bending over her, screaming for a white-lighter and begging her not to give up quite yet.

In the blink of an eye, everything changed.

* * *

_Day Seven..._

"Go away, Daryl."

"Nice to see you, too, Prue."

She turned, eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

He held his hands out in a sign of surrender, a peace offering. "Just to talk. Ria asked me to help with the move to the new safe-house since she's still recovering."

"Fine." She looked at him, then looked away. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You went back," Dary said simply. "You and Ria argued, you stormed away in anger, and then... you went back. She didn't call for help. She said she didn't have time to. So how did you know...?"

"I didn't. I was just lucky, I guess. Or she was lucky, really." She ran a hand through her hair. "I went back to talk to her. I wanted to... I just wanted her to understand. I'm so tired of... this. This arguing, this not talking, this... everything. So I went back, and she was..."

"It's a good thing you went back," he commented dryly. "Maybe Fate is trying to tell you something?"

She snorted. "I doubt it."

"A house divided cannot stand."

She raised one eyebrow. "Quoting dead presidents to me?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what happened between Ria and Myst, but they're not talking. And you aren't talking to anyone either." She shot him an annoyed look, and he shrugged again. "I'm just saying."

"And what exactly are you just saying?"

He let out a slow breath. "None of you will ever win the fight against evil if you're too busy fighting among yourselves."

* * *

_Day Eight..._

"Daryl! _No_!"

The words burst from Adam's lips as he appeared in a swirl of orbs just in time to see the older man fall to the ground, blood coating his body. The witch-lighter turned to stare at the demon who had attacked, and found himself in the middle of a battle. Four demons were attacking Barbus and a warlock, and a dark-lighter seemed to be caught in the middle of it as well, although Adam was unsure which side he was on.

His cry, however, brought almost everything to a complete standstill, and all eyes turned towards him. The warlock raised his hand, an athame held between his fingers, and moved towards Adam with lightning speed. The boy jumped back, expecting an instant attack, and was surprised when nothing happened. His mouth fell open, barely able to comprehend what had just happened, as one of the demons plunged a long, thin sword into the attacking warlock's back, and he burst into ash and dust.

"You will not hurt him!" The demon snarled. The dark-lighter had raised his crossbow, but the demon, who appeared to be the leader of one of the sides of this very strange battle, conjured an energy ball. "Don't even think about it," he snarled at the dark-lighter.

Adam rushed to Daryl's side, checking for a pulse. He was relieved to feel the faint but steady beat, and even more relieved when Daryl's eyes flickered open and he managed a stiff, wan smile.

"Adam."

"Hold on," Adam said, "I'm going to get you out of here."

Behind him, there was more arguing amongst the demons.

"How can you even care about what the impostor has ordered? He is no leader! He's a Halliwell."

"Shut it, Kor. He will skin us alive if we harm his cousin. As it is, he's probably already livid at what happened to the police lieutenant."

"That was an accident. And who cares? I say we finish them both off!"

In the midst of all this, Barbus had disappeared. And Adam did not want to hang around long enough to see what the demons would decide. He pressed his hand against Daryl's shoulder and orbed them away.

Once safely at the Resistance, Adam took a few moments to reassure himself that Daryl would receive the necessary treatment from a white-lighter, then went to find his sister. He stumbled across Prue instead, and for some reason he didn't quite understand, he blurted out the entire story to her.

"A demon saved you?" Prue asked. She'd asked that twice already.

"Yes," Adam answered numbly.

"And you're sure Daryl's okay?" She'd asked that one six times. He was tempted to tell her to go see for herself if she didn't believe him.

"Yes," he answered.

Prue rubbed her eyes wearily. "I don't... understand."

"Yeah. Join the club." He leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. "Daryl said he didn't think he was a target. The demons were after Barbus and his followers, and Daryl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Prue accpeted this in silence for a moment, then asked tentatively, "And the demon saved you... because Wyatt had told him not to hurt you?"

"I think so," Adam murmured. "I think... I think Wyatt has told his demons not to hurt any of us. That's what it sounded like, anyway. And Daryl... the demon said Wyatt was going to be furious that Daryl had gotten hurt."

Prue looked bewildered. More than bewildered. There was something so lost in her expression, and Adam knew he felt exactly the same way. How could Wyatt not care if innocents died, and yet order his demons not to hurt his family? Why couldn't he just be Good or Evil? This dangerous middle ground was making this difficult.

But...

"It was never supposed to be easy," Prue whispered. "Turning on your family. It was never supposed to..." She trailed off, and did not finish the sentence.

* * *

_Day Ten..._

"Okay... so where are we?"

The five gathered in the living area were silent in response to that question.

"Basically... nowhere."

Daryl leaned back on the sofa and watched as Adam paced around the side of the room, studying the walls with a growing intensity. It was their new safe-house, and the young witch-lighter was inspecting the wards. Somehow, and Daryl had never quite figured this out, the boy had the ability to see magical wards that were otherwise invisible to the naked eye. He thought it might have been a spell... unless it was a white-lighter characteristic that only Adam had? It was an interesting theory, but before he could ask about it, Ria was already speaking.

"We don't know where Chris is. But I think, and most of the demosn we've spoken to seem to agree with this, that Wyatt would keep him close."

"Yeah, but Wyatt has buildings all over the place," Myst countered, "and after our last attempt to rescue Chris..." here she paused and winced, remembering Jason's death. She remembered Derek's death as well, but found she had little remorse over killing the man who had brought such hardship into their lives. "After our last attack on him," she continued with a forced smile, "he's like to have put Chris somewhere else. Some other building."

"Scrying hasn't worked," Ria said, ticking the method off on her fingers, "and neither has sensing, interrogation of demons, or spells. We're running out of options."

"Well, unless someone can come up with a better idea, I don't know what choice we have."

"We are not going to give up on him," Ria said firmly, glaring at David.

"I'm not suggesting that," David answered calmly, unfazed by her anger.

"What are you suggesting?" Daryl asked curiously.

David rolled his eyes in frustration. "I'm just pointing out the obvious, Daryl. Unless someone has another idea, we are stuck. We need to accept the reality of that, and quickly, or we won't ever be able to come up with a new plan."

Ria bit her lip. "What sort of new plan?"

"The wards look okay," Adam interrupted as he took a seat next to his sister. "Barbus shouldn't be able to get in."

Ria gave a grateful smile. "Good."

Myst watched the two siblings, then turned her attention back to David. "There is no new plan. We don't have any other options. We need to stick with what we are doing."

"What we are doing is getting us nowhere," David argued.

"Better than doing nothing," Adam piped up. He rubbed the back of his head for a moment, then said, "I just wish we knew Wyatt better. It would be so much easier to do all this if..." He trailed off, shook his head. "I just don't even understand how he thinks anymore."

Myst's head jerked up sharply, and she hesitated. Then a strange light came into her eyes and she rose quickly to her feet. "I... I need to check into something." And she walked from the room.

* * *

_Day Eleven..._

"Any word from Myst yet?" Ria asked as she took a seat next to David on the sofa.

"Not yet," the older witch replied. "I wish we knew what she was doing."

"I wish we knew if she was still alive," Ria muttered, shuddering at the possibility that death might have taken her. "I... I just..." She closed her eyes, shook her head.

"This wouldn't by any chance have to do with whatever conversation you had with her the day Chris was kidnapped?" David asked knowingly, and Ria hung her head. "Were you right in whatever you said?"

"Yes," Ria murmured. "But I guess... maybe I should have been kinder about it."

"Or maybe you did exactly the right thing, and you're letting your worry and frustration and the current situation cloud your judgement on the matter."

Ria licked her lips. "Maybe. Probably. I just wish she was back."

* * *

_Day Thirteen..._

Myst looked around the empty area. It had once been a playground, but now it was little more than charred grass and broken structures. The sun was just setting over the distant horizon, leaving trails of red and orange to cut through the sky. Shadows, made long by the sunset, criss-crossed back and forth across the ground.

Nearly four days. It had taken her nearly four days to find her quarry, and she knew perfectly well that the only reason she had succeeded now was because her quarry wanted to be found. She'd had no luck the first day, and, in fact, most of the demons she had spoken to had insisted that the person she was looking for either did not exist, or was no longer alive. Both of those she knew were not true, but she could not understand how anyone, even someone as skilled as her target, had the ability to just... erase... themselves.

But the second day the responses had changed. The informants that she spoke to began telling her that she should stop looking because her target had heard the rumors and had probably just hidden further underground. That is was no use, and she was simply putting herself in more and more danger by pursuing this.

The third day, and the replies had changed again. This time, the demons told her not to bother looking, that her quarry would find her.

So here she was, staring across a barren wasteland of nothing at the silhouette of the one person she had hoped to never see again. And the one person she thought might actually be able to help them.

"Hello, Bianca," Myst said quietly, approaching the Phoenix.

"Hello, Myst." The assassin witch folded her arms gracefully over her chest and leaned back against the ruins of a swing-set. But Myst, a trained fighter, could see the tension in the other woman's stance, and the dangerous glitter in her eyes. Clearly, she was prepared for the worst.

"I'm not here to kill you," Myst offered.

Bianca gave a dark chuckle, "I'd like to see you try."

Myst didn't say anything for a moment. Her pride was yelling at her to attack the witch, to put her in her place. But Bianca was a Phoenix, the elite of the elite, and if she were honest with herself, it was quite possible that she wouldn't be strong enough to win. Besides, it would do little good for Chris, and that was her main objective.

"I need your help," Myst said finally.

Two perfectly groomed eyebrows shot upwards at that. "My help?" Bianca repeated. "Are you really that slow to learn? Don't you know by now that I can't be trusted?"

Myst swallowed uneasily. Part of her wanted to leave now. Bianca was right, she wasn't trustworthy, and that would never change. But something deeper and stronger was telling Myst to stay. Because this might work. Because this was their only chance.

"You didn't take the pendant to Wyatt. You stopped him from killing me, let me escape with Chris. You betrayed us, but you kept your betrayal from causing much damage," Myst said finally. A pause, then she breathed, "And you love Chris."

Bianca did not confirm the statement. She did not deny it either.

"But all of that means absolutely nothing, because Wyatt has Chris now," Myst continued, and felt a tiny stirring of hope at the fear that passed briefly through Bianca's eyes. The Phoenix was quick to resume her blank, indifferent expression, but Myst had seen the worry, the concern. It was still there, still hiding underneath the cold exterior. "I told you I would never reveal what happened to Chris. And I didn't. I didn't tell anyone. But I want to tell them now. And I want you to come back to the Resistance with me. I want you to help."

Bianca smirked as she answered, "Are you sure? Bringing me into the Resistance didn't work out so well for anyone last time."

Myst nodded. "I know. And you know what? You're right. I don't trust you. I have no reason to. You are nothing more than an arrogant assassin who thinks of nothing but her own survival." She slowly extended her hand. "Here's your chance, Bianca. Prove me wrong. Prove that there is something in you that is still good. Something that makes you more than just a waste of magic and flesh."

And slowly, ever so slowly, Bianca reached out and took Myst's hand.


	43. Into the Lion's Den

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: The first part of this chapter takes place right after the last one, and then there is a skip to about five days later. There will be some references to what happened in those five days in the chapter, but probably no actual flashbacks. Also, now that I've reached the last segment of the story (only nine or ten more chapters to go) expect more regular updates.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three: Into the Lion's Den

All eyes were focused solely on Bianca as she listened to Myst explain the situation. The room was silent, tense, and the air was filled with disapproval. Ria and Adam both stood side by side, wearing identical expressions of distaste and disgust for the Phoenix. Daryl sat on the sofa, listening quietly, a little distractedly. David leaned against the edge of the sofa, his gaze wandering between the two young witch-lighters and the Phoenix.

Prue was conspicuously absent.

"So... let me get this straight," Bianca said finally. "You have no idea where Chris is or what Wyatt is doing to him. You can't give me any clues, and no demons seem willing to answer your questions. And yet you actually think I can help you?" She raised one eyebrow pointedly. "How?"

"Find out where Chris is," Myst answered quietly.

"How?" Bianca repeated.

Myst looked down at the floor, unable to answer the question. It was not that she did not have an answer, it was simply that she was loathe to suggest it. She knew it was the only way to save Chris, and perhaps Chris was the only one who could save the world, but it was still hard to think of suggesting this. As someone who was a member of a sisterhood, a clan, she understand the ties that bound a group together. And to ask someone to turn on that...

But she did not need to say anything, because it only took a moment for Bianca to figure out what Myst was implying, and her entire expression changed to one of furious anger. "You want me to ask my clan. You want me to go the Phoenixes who are still working for Wyatt and ask them to do something that will get them killed?"

Myst nodded reluctantly. "Yes."

Bianca shook her head in disbelief. "How can you of all people ask me that? Would you so easily turn on your sisters?"

"How can you speak of betrayal with righteous anger?" Myst sneered in reply, covering her own uneasiness at the situation with bitter sarcasm. "You are an assassin. You switch sides rather easily, don't you?"

"I don't understand," Adam ventured finally. "Don't you know where Chris is? You still work for Wyatt. I thought you would be one of his more trusted followers at this point, given all that you managed to do for him." His voice was laced with fury, and as Bianca turned towards him, he felt the almost uncontrollable desire to attack her. But he get his emotions at bay as best he could, and waited for her response.

Bianca and Myst locked gazes for a moment, and then Bianca answered evenly, "It is a bit more complicated than that."

"Oh?" Ria practically snarled. "Do tell."

Again, Bianca paused and flicked her gaze to the woman standing next to her. But Myst made no move to say anything, and so the Phoenix answered, "Let's just say I fell from grace a while ago." The assassin noted the way Myst's eyes widened just a little bit, and she knew the warrior was surprised that she had not yet revealed the truth. But she had made a promise to herself a long time ago that what she had done would stay forever secret between the three people who had witnessed it, and as long as Myst did not break the silence, Bianca would say nothing.

And, she knew, neither would Wyatt. He would not admit to anyone, least of all his cousins, that he had been beaten by a single witch. That Chris had slipped through his clutches because he hadn't been prepared enough to respond to Bianca's sudden change of sides.

The three of them - Bianca, Myst, and Wyatt - were the only ones who would ever know.

"So now Wyatt wants you dead, too?" Ria asked, her lips turning up into a thin smile. "As justice goes, that is not so unpoetic, don't you think?"

"Why?" Myst asked, looking over at Bianca, and although her question was vague and enigmatic to the others in the room, Bianca knew exactly what she was asking. Why did she still refuse to tell anyone that she had not gone through with the betrayal? Why did she not want the others to know that she had not given Wyatt the pendant to Valhalla, that she had helped Myst escape with Chris? Why did it need to be so much of a secret.

"That part of my life is over," Bianca answered slowly. "And the consequences of it do not concern anyone but me." She could never tell Chris the truth. If he knew what she had done - and what she had not been able to do - he would try to save her. And she could not let that happen, not even now, not even after all this time. Because Chris would only end up getting hurt, and she could not ever let that happen.

"I think I might be missing something here," Daryl said dryly as he noted the conversation once again passing over his head. "Can you or can you not locate Chris for us?"

Bianca stared at Daryl for a moment, then shrugged. "I could. But that does not mean I will."

"If you don't, you are nothing more than a traitor and a villain!" Ria spat furiously.

"And if you continue to demand I betray my own family to what would most likely be their death, you are hardly better than your cousin," Bianca retorted quickly, and although whether she meant Prue or Wyatt was unclear, her words still had an impact. Ria flinched as though she had been physically attacked by the statement, and Adam looked away quickly. Daryl and David both exchanged worried looks, concerned that this argument could all too easily spin out of control. Only Myst remained unmoved by the confrontation.

The blonde warrior spoke quietly, "Please, Bianca. Chris is... we need him. And you must know that."

"I do," Bianca agreed quietly. She turned away from the others and began to pace the length of the room. "But I cannot... I have already betrayed my clan by betraying the man they now serve. I cannot sign their death warrants as well. I have done far too much damage as it is."

"To us, as well," Myst replied.

Bianca paused, considering this. Then she said simply, "It was not your blood that spilled over my hands as I drove the athame into the still-beating heart. It was not your eyes that glazed over with death, not your warm skin that paled before my very eyes."

"You killed one of your own?" Adam gasped, horrified. How could they trust an assassin who had no loyalty? Phoenixes were supposed to at least be loyal to their own family, and yet Bianca had just admitted to murdering one of them. This was absolutely ridiculous. What could have possibly possessed Myst to think this was a good idea?

Bianca practically growled the response, "I was doing what was _right_." Thoughts of Matt passed quickly through her mind, and she remembered the pain, the self-loathing, the fury at the world, that she had felt the moment the athame had left her hand, flying towards her own family member. But it had been the only way to stop Matt was taking the pendant to Wyatt, and she had known then, just like she knew now, that siding with Wyatt would destroy everything she had ever believed in, ever cherished, ever wanted for the future.

She had killed Matt, she had lied to Chris, she had turned her back on her family... and all because she thought it was _right_. But when did the right thing become so... wrong?

It was those thoughts that caused her to jerk her head up in startled surprise and give Ria and Adam a piercing stare. They might not have known exactly what was passing through her mind, but they stayed silent and stared back, seeming to understand that she was coming to a decision, and they somehow were the deciding factors.

And they were.

Because they knew what it felt like to have to betray family in order to do the right thing.

It was a war... and right and wrong were no longer so easily defined. But Chris... Chris was the only one who could save them. Everyone seemed to believe it, and for some reason she could not quite identify, Bianca did as well.

Tanya, the Phoenix Matriarch had told her once that as a member of the clan, she should not concern herself with ideas of Good and Evil. The only thing that mattered to neutral beings such as herself was family. There was no doubt in her mind that Tanya would have been appalled at her current thoughts, at the fact that she was ever considering doing this. Of course, Tanya would never have let Chris escape in the first place. She would have followed through on Wyatt's orders because the only thing that mattered was the clan, and siding with Wyatt would keep them at the top of the power chain.

But Tanya was dead now, killed by Chris nearly three years ago.

Killed by _Chris_...

It was that death that had convinced her to side with Wyatt, and it was that decision that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. But...

She drew a breath. It was unpleasant, it was distasteful, it was disloyal, and it might even be downright wrong. But it was also the only choice, the only thing she really could do. It might be wrong, but it was also right, and she knew better than most just how much had to be sacrificed in order to save the world.

"Alright," she said finally. "I'll find Chris."

* * *

_Five days later..._

Chris watched silently as the door to his room opened, and a figure stepped through. He was fairly certain she was not a demon, but he had yet to figure out if she was a mortal or a witch or some other magical being caught in Wyatt's control. She did not speak to him, just met his gaze with a blank stare and a vacant smile, and placed a tray of food at his side. She had come around this time each day for the past three days, and Chris was getting frustrated with her determined silence.

"Good afternoon," he greeted her as he looked down at the plate. Sandwich, salad, fruit and yogurt, cookie. He felt ridiculous, like he was in kindergarten again.

The woman said nothing, just nodded politely and turned to go.

Chris looked up sharply, watching as she moved towards the open door. Just as she reached the threshold, he sprung forward with as much strength and speed as he could muster, and tackled her to the ground. She gave an undignified yell, but Chris had already rolled over her body and sprinted through the open door. The hallway stretched out before him, and he began to run, knowing in a matter of seconds every demon would be surrounding him, catching him, pulling him back into his glorified prison.

He rounded the corner, and ran full into the large torso of a particular displeased looking demon, who caught him by the arm and twisted it painfully. Chris winced in surprise, but refused to make any sound. Instead, he glared at the demon who held him.

"Third escape attempt in three days," a voice drawled, and a rush of black and blue lights signaled the arrival of his overlord brother. "I'm impressed."

Chris rolled his eyes at his brother. "I aim to impress," he drawled, a little surprised at the cool tone which fell so easily from his parted lips. But it had been five days since Wyatt had given him the book, five days since he thought there might be some hope for his brother still, and in those five days he had seen just what Wyatt was capable of doing. Through his brother's eyes, he had seen the ground run red with blood and heard the scream of pain abruptly stopped by the quick silence of death.

"You try my patience, Chris," Wyatt said gently. "I need you to stop this foolishness."

"Foolishness?" Chris repeated, eyes blazing with fury. "I watched you kill that boy!"

An echoing silence met those words, and Wyatt frowned with distaste. "He was a threat," he said finally.

Chris swallowed uneasily. The boy could not have been more than ten or eleven. He had been caught trying to steal potions ingredients from a black-market sorcerer's shop. As it turned out, he was a threat to Wyatt since he had been instructed to steal these particular ingredients so his parents could brew a vanquishing potion for the Twice Blessed's lethal demon guards. But the boy had not known the true reason for his errand, and yet his ignorance had not been enough to save him from Wyatt's swift and deadly ideas of justice.

Chris dropped his gaze as he remembered those dark eyes widening in fear seconds before the blood spilled from the child's chest and he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

"I warned you that if you entered my mind, you might not like what you see," Wyatt said simply. "You still have not learned that sometimes collateral damage is necessary for the good of the many, and you do not have the stomach for what my job entails."

"Your job?" Chris repeated numbly. "You speak about this like you have no choice!"

Wyatt turned away from Chris and replied coldly, "I don't. I do what is necessary, and I am trying my best to keep you away from it since you clearly are far too much like Mom to have the strength to do what must be done."

Chris' jaw dropped, and he gaped at his brother as a strange sort of understanding flooded his senses. "You think you are doing me a favor?" he said finally, his words filled with disbelief. The demons all around them were silent, watching the exchange with a calculating gaze, and Chris was acutely aware of their presence. But he ignored them as best as he could, and pressed forward with his line of questioning. "You... you keep me locked up here because you think... you think you are the one who is making the sacrifices for our family? You don't want to do this, but..."

Wyatt spun around and stared at Chris. "Of course I do not want to do this. Do you think I like killing people? Do you think I find enjoyment in all that I am forced to do? But you are my younger brother and I will not let you ruin yourself. You do not have the strength to do my job, and so I must do it myself. And it does not make it any easier when you fight me!" He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, looking suddenly exhausted by this argument. Turning to one of the demons, he said quietly, "Take Chris back to his room."

And just like that, the conversation was over.

* * *

"What do you want?" the woman asked haughtily, her dark red hair blowing in the wind, her eyes narrowed into thin slits. She looked fierce, far more fierce than one would have expected for someone only a few years past twenty.

But Bianca did not back down from the other Phoenix. Instead, she matched her glare with one just as fierce. "Your help, Bree. Why else do you think I would have come?" Five days of trying to get through to her clan, trying to find them, trying to convince them to speak to her. Five days, and she was finally here.

Bree gave a dry chuckle, rolling her eyes. "My help? I find it difficult to believe that you could actually expect that after what you did. I don't know why Tanya thought so much of you, but I am not going to make the same mistake as our last Phoenix Matriarch."

Bianca accepted this in silence, her mind working furiously to come up with a plan. She knew there was little she could do to change the opinions of anyone if she could not first get through to Bree. Bree, who had become the Matriarch after Bianca had abandoned the clan, was harsh and cold and suspicious of anyone and everyone. She would not easily give her trust, and the rest of their family would follow her lead.

"I never meant for things to happen the way they did," Bianca admitted slowly. "I just... Matt was not supposed to die. He would not have needed to die if he had not opposed what I was trying to do."

"Oh, so now this is his fault?" Bree snarled furiously. "Don't try to play the victim, traitor. Matt would not have died if you had not gotten cold feet at the very last second. It is your fault, and yours alone."

Bianca pursed her lips and answered, "It is Wyatt's fault."

Bree rolled her eyes. "You took his assignment, and a Phoenix does not fail at her job. But you did, didn't you?"

Bianca closed her eyes and averted her head for a moment, the memory of Matt's blood spilling from his lifeless body almost more than she could bear. "Bree, I..." She drew a breath. "I was trying to save us. All of us. Don't you see that this world is not what we wanted?"

"Why not?" Bree demanded harshly. "We have targets, we eliminate them. It is exactly what we have always done for all the years since our first Matriarch set foot upon this earth."

"We are slaves to Wyatt," Bianca retorted. "We used to be able to pick who we would and would not kill. Now... now we do Wyatt's bidding, whatever it may be. Is that really the type of life you want for our family?"

Bree hesitated, then said, "It is far better than no life at all. Which is what you will certainly bring for us if you continue on your chosen path. I will not help you destroy us."

"No," Bianca agreed. "But you do not need to help me do that, do you? You're the one destroying us, and you are doing it fine on your own."

"My first and only concern in the safety of our clan," Bree spat. "How dare you imply that I care about anything besides that?"

"Then prove it," Bianca challenged. "Tell me what I need to know."

"And have Wyatt kill us all?" Bree answered coolly. "I think not."

"He won't kill you if he does not know that you were our informant. And he won't. I will not tell him, and neither will anyone else." She paused, indecision written clearly on her face, but then she knew, by the stubborn look in Bree's eyes, that she had to play her final card, had to make the threat she dreaded uttering. "If you don't help us," she said softly, a little sadly, "the remaining members of the Resistance will target our clan. And I... I won't stop them."

Bree froze. There it was, out in the open. The complete betrayal. And Bianca knew that after this she would never be a Phoenix, never be allowed back in the clan. But she had to do it, because it was the only way to save Chris... and she had to focus on the bigger picture. The world was so much more important than her family. That was a truth that Bree could not see, that Wyatt could not see, that not even most agents of Good could comprehend. Sometimes, for the promotion of the Greater Good, a person might have to commit an act of great evil. Like the ultimate betrayal of the only people that ever mattered.

"How can you do this?" Bree whispered. Because she could see the deadly serious look in Bianca's eyes, and she knew this was not an idle threat.

"Because I believe in a future that is better than this one. And I am willing to fight for it."

Bree licked her lips and looked away. The Resistance was weakening, crumbling before their very eyes. But if the remaining Halliwells, the few good witches, the Valkeries, and all other members came together in an effort to destroy the Phoenixes... Bree knew that she could not protect her clan from that. A few might escape, and they would certainly take many Resistance members to the afterlife with them, but... no, she could not risk it. She could not let them die.

"Your word that Wyatt will never know our role in this?" she said finally.

Bianca nodded. "Never. I swear it."

Bree met Bianca's gaze and, for the first time in the history of the Phoenix clan, the final power of the Matriarch was invoked. "You are no longer family of ours, Bianca," she said, her words ringing with ancient power. "I strip you of your title."

Bianca said nothing. She was afraid if she spoke, she would take back what she had said, she would plead for forgiveness and acceptance. Her heart slowly shattered in her chest, pain and ice and fear radiating through every vein of her body.

She was now and forever alone.

"What do you want to know, specifically?" Bree asked bitterly.

Bianca swallowed. "Tell me where Chris Halliwell is."

* * *

He could still hear the boy screaming.

Chris glanced around the garden, pacing uneasily. He could still here the cries for help, the begging and pleading. The screams of an innocent, naive child whose very life had been taken away from him in a sudden burst of cruelty.

Wyatt had not even shed a tear.

The rooftop garden was pleasant in the afternoon's warmth, but he barely even noticed it. This place that Wyatt had created for Chris, a sanctuary for him to escape the confines of his room, was no longer an enjoyable place. Because the gentle breeze, the cool shade, the beautiful flowers could not erase the memories that had etched themselves into Chris' mind, refusing to leave.

He could still hear the boy screaming.

He'd tried another escape attempt, but as usual had been caught and sent to his room like a disobedient child. His anger at the entire situation was becoming unbearable, and he needed to do something, anything, to make it stop. He had to get out of here, had to escape.

But how?

He heard the sound of shimmering and turned just in time to see the demon appear, grim eyes locked on the younger witch-lighter. Wyatt's demons had become a more common sight around him, and he knew it was Wyatt's way of punishing him for his many escape attempts. His brother had originally been so careful about keeping the demons and warlocks out of view, but now they seemed to be everywhere Chris looked, a mocking reminder of his failure to stop his brother from going down the path to evil.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Lord Wyatt requests your presence."

Chris frowned. This was a first. Usually Wyatt came to him, not the other way around.

Before he could respond to the statement, the demon had caught him by the arm and shimmered him unceremoniously from the rooftop. They reappeared in an elaborate hall. There was a large table in the center of the room, and several demons and other agents of evil were settled in chairs around it. Wyatt stood with his back to them, looking out the window.

The demon pushed Chris into one of the chairs.

Wyatt turned slowly. "You will be joining us today, Chris," he said sternly, his eyes showing no mercy for the confused witch-lighter.

"Why?" Chris demanded.

"Because I said so," Wyatt answered, and for a moment he sounded so much like Piper that both brother's froze. But the moment passed, and he turned back to those at the table. "As I was saying before Christopher arrived, it is imperative that we destroy this growing faction of dissenters. To do this, we must locate and destroy Barbus. He has evaded my reach for too long, and I can no longer tolerate him running free."

"He has not made a move in a few days," one of the demon remarked. "Do you believe he is still alive? No doubt your youngest cousins wish him vanquished as well. Could they have succeeded at that?"

Wyatt shook his head. "This is Barbus. He always comes back, Garth. _Always_."

"Then how do you expect to keep him dead?" Chris questioned pointedly, his tone filled with impudence.

Wyatt glanced at Chris with a look that said clearly to keep a civil tongue in his mouth. Chris sighed, knowing he was walking on thin ice already, and pretty soon that ice would crack beneath him. But he refused to back down from th question, and met Wyatt's glare with a steady look of his own.

"I'll find a way," Wyatt replied. "But first, I need to find him."

The demon, Garth, looked between the two brothers, then suggested uneasily, "How about using bait, Lord Wyatt?"

Chris did not quite understand what the demon was suggesting, but it was evident that Wyatt did, and his face grew thunderous. "Don't ever suggest something like that," the Twice Blessed snarled. "Ever. Do you understand?"

Garth bowed his head, fear shining in his black eyes. "Yes, my Lord," he answered quickly, and Chris realized exactly what the demon had been suggesting. By bait, he meant Chris.

"Actually," Chris mused thoughtfully, "that's not a bad plan. You know Barbus wants all of us dead. He's not stupid enough to go after you, Wyatt, but he might come after me. I mean... he always did have a personal vendetta against Mom and the Aunts, so tempt him with a Halliwell child and..."

"No," Wyatt said emphatically. "Not a chance, Chris."

"Why not?" Chris demanded. "What are you so afraid of?"

The tension in the room seemed to increase abruptly, every demon and warlock holding his breath. The skin around Wyatt's eyes grew taunt, the only indication that Chris' words had upset him. When he answered, his tone was calm and controlled, but that did little to ease the sudden apprehension in the air.

"Well, you never had the ability to keep your emotions under control, Chris," Wyatt drawled, "and Barbus will take advantage of that."

At the same moment, Wyatt's voice rang in Chris' mind, cold and firm, like the ringing of a bell. The intensity of the rage simmering in the words was enough to give him a migraine, and

Chris reached up with one hand to clutch his temples._  
_

_Do not question me in front of my minions, Chris. I brought you here to give you a chance to see the way this world works so that you can find your place in it. But I will not tolerate you accusing me of weakness. Do you understand?_

Through clenched teeth, Chris managed to respond, "I understand, Wyatt. But I don't know what you expected. I know my place, and it isn't here."

_Enough, Chris.  
_

_What did you think would happen, Wyatt?_ Chris thought in reply, trusting on Wyatt's powers to hear his thoughts. _That I would become your lackey like all the rest of your subjects?_

Wyatt slanted a look at him, but did not reply. Instead, he addressed those gathered around him, "We will not be using anyone in my family as bait."

"What about someone not in your family, Lord Wyatt?" another demon, this one female, suggested. "Inspector Morris or one of the Valkeries - Myst, I believe they call her."

"No!" Chris spat, jumping to his feet. He ignored the warning look on Wyatt's face, and addressed the demon who had spoken. "You will not be using them as bait. Not ever!"

The demon sneered, her red eyes flashing with mocking triumph. "Afraid something will happen to them?" she asked. Tilting her head to the side, she added, "I sense quite a bit of emotion in you. Don't you know, feelings like that only get you in trouble."

"Enough, Sibyl," Wyatt said softly, but in a voice underlined with steel. "Your services as a Seer are useful to me, but you are replaceable and I will not have you mocking my brother." After a moment, however, he added, "The plans has flaws, but promise as well. Barbus will be interested in hurting my family in any way possible, and that includes killing their friends."

"You are going to use them as bait?" Chris asked incredulously, terror reflected in his jade eyes. "You can't!"_  
_

_Do you really think I would let harm come to them? _Wyatt frowned slightly, then added_, Sit down, Chris.  
_

_If no harm is going to come to whoever is bait, then why can't it be me?  
_

_Because I will not use my brother in a trap! Now sit down, Chris._

The power of Wyatt's command was enough to force Chris back into his chair, but he glowered in mutinous fury at his brother. "I will not agree to that plan," he snarled.

Wyatt smirked in reply, "Then I suppose it is fortunate I do not need your approval to run my empire."

A ripple of laughter ran through the table, each demon, warlock, and dark-lighter smiling appreciatively at Chris' inability to argue with Wyatt's logic and power. The brunette witch-lighter, simmering with impotent rage, glowered at his brother, while Wyatt stared back, a challenge in his eyes.

"If you don't need me, why did you bother bringing me here?" Chris asked finally.

"Because you are nearly insufferable and I had no desire to inflict the torture of your presence on Prue, Ria, and Adam," Wyatt retorted. Again, there was a murmur of laughter at Chris' expense._  
_

_And what will happen to me, Wy, when you finally realize I will _never _be on your side?  
_

_When will you realize, Chris, that you were _born _on my side? You cannot escape the fact that you are my little brother.  
_

"I am your brother in name, only," Chris answered, and he did not realize that he had spoken aloud until he heard the collective gasp from those around him. Wyatt stiffened, but his expression was so unreadable that Chris was not entirely sure his brother even cared about those words. But the demons certainly did, and it took Chris a moment to determine exactly what the problem was.

Until Sybil spoke.

"Such defiance is usually met with death, little witch."

"Yes," Chris shot back, thinking of the little boy, hearing his echoing screams, "so I've seen."_  
_

_You will learn acknowledge that you are my brother and you will respect the consequences of that. _

Wyatt wasn't even looking a him, but that did not stop the force of the words from ringing in his mind. Chris swallowed uneasily as he asked, "And if I don't?"_  
_

_I have tried to reach you with words, with pleas, with bargaining, with rational and logical argument. What will it take for you to see the truth? When will you pull away the blinders that keep you trapped in the flawed logic of Good and Evil?  
_

_Well, you could try force. Maybe you could beat it into me like you do everyone else._

Wyatt gave him a long look, then said, "As you wish." He turned away, glancing at one of the guards, who shimmered beside Chris and caught the witch-lighter by the arm. Before the younger Halliwell had registered exactly what was happening, the room faded from around him, and he found himself standing in the middle of a stone and cement cell. The demon shoved him roughly to the floor and shimmered away, without a word leaving his lips.

Chris looked around the cell and sighed. Slumping against the cold stone floor, he closed his eyes and drew a long breath. It would be a while before he got out of this mess... if he got out.

* * *

Bianca stared up at the building. It was not particularly grandiose, and in no way indicated that it was the headquarters of Wyatt's operation. But Bree would not lie to her about something like this, and so the intel must be accurate. Chris must be in there... somewhere.

Next to her, Ria said softly, "So... how exactly are we going to manage this again?" and beside her, Myst nodded in concerned agreement. The three of them had come together, leaving David and Adam behind with Daryl. They all knew perfectly well that, in terms of power, they were no match for Wyatt. Their only chance, then, was to slip in and out unnoticed, and that required moving in small numbers instead of leading the entire Resistance against the regime of the Twice Blessed in what would assuredly be a pointless battle.

"First we need to determine exactly where Chris is within the building," Bianca said softly, plans and strategies running through her mind. "That will be the hardest part."

"And here I thought the hardest part was going to be fighting Wyatt," Myst muttered sarcastically.

Bianca sent her a pointed glare. "Don't even think about it," she warned. "We do not engage with Wyatt. That is complete suicide, and will not help Chris in any way." She frowned thoughtfully, then said, "You and Ria find shelter for the night. There's a chance I can slip into the building without being noticed. Once inside, I can determine what we need to know, and get back to you with a more concise and concrete plan."

Ria bit her lip hesitantly, not liking the idea. She certainly would not trust Bianca with her cousin's safety, even more than that, she did not want to delay the rescue. "What if Chris is being hurt even as we speak? What if Wyatt kills him?"

Bianca slanted a look at the witch-lighter and replied, "He won't kill Chris. As for being hurt..." she trailed off with an apologetic shrug. "If we rush into this and therefore fail, Chris will end up being even more hurt."

"Won't the demons in there know who you are and deliver you to Wyatt?" Myst pressed.

Bianca shrugged again. "Maybe. But Wyatt has the entire Underworld working for him at this point, and there are a lot of demons and warlocks who might know who I am by name, but have never seen me before. I'm pretty sure Wyatt didn't expect me to come back after I fled, so he wouldn't have alerted his guards to that possible threat. He wouldn't have seen me as anything worth worrying about." She gave a grim smile and added, "For once, his arrogance works in our favor."

"So... you want to walk through the front door?"

Bianca nodded. "If Wyatt hasn't changed anything since I last worked for him, it is a pretty simple protocol to get in. There will be a couple of guards to deal with, but nothing I can't handle." She paused, then explained dryly, "Evil never thinks of using the front door. Neither do mortals, for that matter. Wyatt knew that, so he has every other point of entry on his bases guarded beyond anything you could imagine. But the front door... Why bother with that when no one is going to use it besides his loyal followers?"

The plan was not to their liking, but both Myst and Ria had to agree there was little else they could do at this point. As they melted back into the shadows, Bianca strode forward, towards the building, towards Wyatt's most well-protected lair. The building rose in front of her, and a long set of broad steps separated her from the door. With every move she made, she felt herself coming closer and closer towards a very possible end. All her senses were screaming at her, informing her that the high-rise ahead was the last place anyone with any sense of self-preservation would want to go. But she pressed on, regardless.

At the top of the stairs, two demon guards appeared, throwing off their invisibility cloaks and baring her path with long curved swords and cruel grins.

"Going somewhere, princess?" one of the demons asked. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing here?"

Before he had even finished the sentence, Bianca's athame found its way into his chest. His eyes rolled backwards into his head and he let out one anguished cry before the flames consumed his body and he turned into ash.

She turned towards the other guard. "I never did like that one," she deadpanned. "Always leering." With narrowed eyes and a threatening growl, she demanded, "Care to follow in his footsteps?"

"What business do you have here?" the demon shot back while at the same time waving his hand and summoning a replacement guard.

Bianca extended her arm and yanked up the sleeve to show the Phoenix birthmark. "The kind that Lord Wyatt paid an impressive sum to buy." The Phoenixes, she knew, were in good standing among Wyatt and his followers, and if she was right, then no one would have warned to the guards to keep their eyes open for her. Displaying the birthmark would gain her instance acceptance and entry, although once she got inside she would need to keep her wits about her long enough to find Chris and call for help.

Sure enough, the guard nodded and stepped aside, letting her enter the building.

She stepped through, and the door slammed shut behind her, blocking her from the world outside.

* * *

Next Chapter: The Riddle

Due: Sun 9/21


	44. The Riddle

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four: The Riddle

_So I guess we're big and I guess we're small  
If you think about it, man, you know we got it all  
'Cause we're all we've got on this bouncing ball  
And I love you free, I love you freely...  
__  
And here's a riddle for you,  
Find the answer,  
There's a reason for the world,  
You and I..._

_Five for Fighting, "The Riddle"_

Adam had not expected Destiny to look so plain.

He remembered vaguely stories of the Angel of Destiny swooping in and offering his mother and aunts a chance at a magic-free existence. They hadn't taken it, and often he wondered if they ever regretted that decision. With magic, things might have been different.

Of course, they might have all been the same as well.

His musing about the flow of the universe and Fate and Destiny and Free Will were abruptly cut off as the Angel of Destiny decided to speak. "Do you have a reason for summoning me, child, or was this just a pointless waste of time?"

She could not have been much older than Chris. He'd expected someone with a wizened face and a long flowing beard, maybe even tufts of white hair emerging from behind his ears. He'd expected someone who radiated authority and power an some form of ancient knowledge. But this Destiny was young, brash, and impatient.

"If Chris changes the future," Adam said finally, finding his voice at last, "will we... be able to enjoy it?"

Destiny contemplated his question for a moment, before answering, "Well, any future has to be better than this one, right? So why wouldn't you enjoy it?"

Adam clenched his hands into tight fists, and then slowly let them release, stretching each finger. He chanced a glance behind him at the closed door. David and Daryl had seemingly bought the alibi that he just needed to lie down for a bit, and he was sure they would not interrupt the conversation. He knew Ria would most certainly have a fit of rage when she discovered he had done something as dangerous and possibly stupid as summoning the Angel of Destiny, so he wanted to avoid any arguments now. Better to apologize than to ask permission.

Still... Destiny had not answered the question he wanted to ask. Of course, he had not asked the question directly, because just the thought of putting those ideas into words left him feeling terrified.

But what other explanation was there? He had seen the future, seen the family gathered around a table for dinner, and it was not Ria and him that sat beside their mother. It was not their father whose grave caused her to weep so uncontrollably.

Kyle Brody... Someone he had never even met.

He looked up at Destiny once more. Destiny, he discovered, had brilliantly blue eyes.

"Ria and I..." He trailed off, licking his dry lips, but Destiny seemed to have no desire to make this any easier for him, and she waited patiently for him to form the question. "Ria and I are not in that new world. Are we?"

He'd known the answer even before he asked the question, but that did not stop his heart from falling into his stomach as he watched those blue eyes narrow slightly, as Destiny opened her mouth to answer. He was barely listening to her words, and she seemed to know that. Her reply was short, and to the point, with nothing to make the hard truth any easier to accept.

"No, you are not."

Adam rose slowly, unsteadily, reaching out with one hand to catch himself against the bed. "I..." His throat was dry, and he had no idea what to say in response to her admittance.

"You have the answers, Adam," Destiny continued in an unemotional voice. "You know what you need to tell Chris about how to change the future. Why have you delayed so long in telling him?"

Adam shook his head. "Because by the time I finally cast the spell, Chris had been kidnapped by Wyatt. Or haven't you been paying attention to that recent development?"

"Sarcasm is rather unbecoming," Destiny answered casually. "And you knew before you cast the spell. Or, at least, you suspected. All those dreams you were having... you can lie to yourself all you want, Adam, but we both know the truth. So why did you delay?"

Adam turned sharply, ignoring Destiny for the moment. He had suspected, she was right about that much. The dreams, the memories... It was impossible to see those, night after night, and not realize that the answer lay somewhere in his family's hysteria over Wyatt's childhood abduction or Wyatt's own murky memories from that time. So what had stopped him from confiding this to Chris? What had stopped him from sharing these insights if they might save this world and his cousin?

He looked up at Destiny, and she looked back at him. "Do you have an answer, or should I just keep waiting for you to find enough courage to actually speak?" she drawled in a bored tone.

"How can you ask me to erase myself?"

Destiny shrugged. "I'm not asking. It's going to happen, no matter what. If Chris goes back in time, he will change the future. That is all there is to it."

"How can you know that?" Adam demanded hotly.

"Because I am an Angel of Destiny, child," she answered, and Adam had the strangest sensation that she was refraining from rolling her eyes at him. "I see destinies. That's what I do. Hence the title." She turned away. "You could stop it, of course. If Chris does not go back in time, he cannot succeed."

Adam carefully thought over her words, trying to find some hidden meaning. He knew he was being selfish, refusing to save the world because of what it would do to him. But the fact of the matter was that, although he would lay down his own life to save his family and the future, he could not sacrifice Ria. He could not even bring himself to tell her that she was not in this new future, this future that was only a mere possibility, only one potential outcome. And if he could not confide that in her, how could he do anything that would cause to no longer exist.

"This is why I was born, isn't it?" he said numbly, the full weight of truth slamming down on him. "So that I could discover the truth. So I could tell Chris. My only destiny was to do that, and then..."

"Don't be a fool," Destiny snapped in reply. "You were given the chance to save the entire world. That is hardly something to complain about, is it?"

"To save a world I will never be part of," Adam muttered sullenly. "So now I have no choice? Is that it? I have to do what you want me to? It's my _destiny_?"

The Angel of Destiny folded her arms over her chest, eyes clouded with frustration. "You still do not understand, do you? I don't care what you do. Why would I? You have a choice, I have told you that already. You can keep this world the way it is by not letting Chris go back in time. The end has not been written yet, and even I do not know what will comes to pass. I know only the various possibilities."

"Yeah, well... these possibilities aren't fair."

"Life isn't fair, child. How have you not learned that lesson yet?"

Adam ran a hand through his hair, and looked away from her. How could he be asked to make this choice? Why did the fate of the world have to rest on his shoulders? And how could anyone ask him to sacrifice his own sister for the Greater Good?

"I don't want to have to make this decision," Adam said angrily, rubbing away the tears that were starting to form. Tears of frustration and fear because he was still just a child, and he should not be forced into this position. "I don't want to choose between Ria and the World."

"Hmm..." Destiny gave him a long look. "Be careful what you wish for, child, because in this world, you might just get it..."

* * *

Chris rubbed a hand over his aching side, wondering if he would bruise. The demon guard had not been particularly gentle when stopped Chris' last escape attempt, and now his vision was blurred by sweat that stung in his eyes and his breath came in uneven gasps. And it was all for nothing, because he was still here, in this cell.

He had been able to determine a few bits of information, at least, although he had no idea if they would be useful. He was underground, in some kind of basement that was attached to the building through a series of enchanted staircases. There were spells all around here, most to prevent orbing or other modes of magical transportation, and only a few selected demons could use their powers in this place. He thought there might be other cells, but he could not see them. He could not see past the hallway in front of him, and he was bared from that by a series of metal planks that would not budge under any form of attack.

He wasn't sure how long he had been down here. He doubted more than a day or two, but he had tried to escape four times already, and each time he ended up being thrown back into his cell, usually with a few extra bruises.

The demonic guard's name was Galahad, which Chris found especially ironic due to the namesake's role in the King Arthur legends. Galahad, Lancelot's son and Arthur's most loyal and trusted knight... He wondered vaguely if the demon knew the significance of the name, or even if Wyatt did. Wyatt certainly never bothered to study the stories of his predecessor, and demons usually did not spend that much time learning about the ancient forces of Good.

Wyatt had not been to visit him yet. He wondered when Wyatt would come. Or perhaps the Twice Blessed would just leave him there to waste away.

But Wyatt was his brother. And didn't that count for something? How could Wyatt do this to him, leave him at the mercy of demons and warlocks? He had already tried reaching out for Wyatt, but to no avail. His brother had clearly erected a barrier around his mind, keeping Chris from even locating him, let alone entering into his thoughts.

He closed his eyes for a moment, a took a few deep breaths, willing the ache in his side to subside. He had no doubt that if he did not bother trying to escape, the demons would leave him alone. Or, at least, he wanted to believe that, because he wanted to believe that Wyatt still had enough good in him to care about his family. Surely he had given some kind of orders to keep Chris from being killed?

Right?

Chris opened his eyes and glanced at the bars in front of him, his mind wandering to thoughts of Ria and Adam. He had been here for three weeks already, and he had no idea how they were surviving. What had happened to them, and had they discovered Prue's betrayal? Was David keeping them safe? And Myst, what was she doing? Or Daryl?

As if on cue, black and blue lights lit up the room, and Wyatt appeared, his arms folded over his chest, his expression clearly unhappy. He was standing inside the cell, so close to Chris that he could have reached out and touched his younger brother. He made no move to do so, however, and turned away, asking in a frustrated tone, "Why can't you just give it a rest, Chris? Don't you see trying to escape will get you nowhere?"

"You can't expect me to just stay here and wait for you to grow some compassion and morals," Chris spat back, trying to rise to his feet. But his body ached, and he had to steady himself against the wall, unable to stand on his own two feet. He shoved his hair out of his eyes, and as he did so, the sleeve of his shirt slid down, revealing the thin ring of bruises around his arm.

Wyatt sighed, glancing over at his brother for a moment before looking away again. "Chris, please... why do you have to make this so hard?"

"I'm making this hard?" Chris repeated incredulously. "Wyatt, you threw me in a cage! How is this my fault?"

"If you would only listen to reason..." Wyatt pleaded, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"This isn't reason. This is insanity. This is evil. I've seen what you do and who you really are underneath your guise."

Wyatt reached over and caught Chris, yanking his chin up so that he had to meet Wyatt's piercing blue stare. "You always knew who I really was, Chris, so don't pretend to have just figured it out now. And knowing what I believed and what I stood for did not keep you from joining me in the beginning. Or have you so rewritten history that you forgot about that?"

"Still trying to make it everybody else's fault?" Chris sneered, pushing himself away from Wyatt and stumbling back to a sitting position on the floor. He knew Wyatt would now have the height advantage, but didn't he have every other advantage as well? So what difference would it really make?

"Chris..."

"No, Wyatt. I won't listen to your twisted ideas any more. I trusted you once, but how can I do that now? You sit on your makeshift throne and pretend to be the ruler while your demons cover me in bruises. Do you really think it is any less your fault just because you are not here to see it?"

Wyatt stretched out his hands, and they began to glow. A moment later, Excalibur rested in his palms. The deadly blade seem to cast its own glow throughout the room, illuminating every speck of dust in even the further corners. Chris could feel the electricity crackling in the air, vibrating and humming with its own inner rhythm.

Wyatt tossed the sword at Chris' feet. It hit the ground with a clang which echoed intensely through the room.

"So kill me," Wyatt said simply. Chris looked up at him, jade eyes widening, and Wyatt continued, "If I am evil, and if you subscribe to our mother's beliefs, then kill me. That is your job, isn't it? Your destiny?"

"It isn't... it doesn't work like that," Chris protested even as Wyatt kicked the sword closer to him. "I can't..."

"Why not?" Wyatt pressed. "Why can't you? Why isn't it that simple?"

Chris picked up the sword and rose to his feet. He did not like the feel of it in his hands. It was almost like a lure, something pulling him away from the morals that he knew he believed in. It was easy to see how such power might corrupt an individual, particularly one already walking down the wrong path. He looked at Wyatt, unsure what to do. How could he justify his refusal to kill his brother in a way that Wyatt would understand? And yet... how much future trouble would he save the world if he just killed his brother now.

"Go ahead," Wyatt said, extending his hands and closing his eyes, "I won't stop you."

Chris thought of the child, perpetually screaming as Wyatt brought about the end of his life. He thought about Wyatt's cold eyes as he contemplated using Daryl or Myst as bait. He thought about his mother, slumped over the floor, eyes unseeing even as they stared at him... through him...

The sword left his hand, flying through the air with a deadly speed. It whistled, and then struck home, slicing through the floor just between Wyatt's feet and embedding itself up to its hilt in the floor. Wyatt reached down and pulled it smoothly from the cement, swinging it gracefully through the air before catching it easily in both palms.

Chris looked away even as Wyatt orbed from the room, and he was left alone in the silence.

* * *

"So... are you going to tell me why you trust her?" Ria asked quietly as she slanted a look at Myst. They had already been waiting for over twenty-four hours, and although Myst insisted that Bianca would help them with this, the witch-lighter was becoming nervous. "After everything she did..."

Myst hesitated, torn. Part of her wanted to reveal the secret, and part of her did not. She knew she owed no loyalty to Bianca, and could hardly understand why the Phoenix was so determined to keep her actions a secret, but still... it was obvious that this was important to her. And Myst had already asked her to do so much...

"You feel guilty," Ria said suddenly, comprehension dawning on her features. "You won't tell me what the issue is because you feel guilty..."

"I would never be able to betray my sisters," Myst answered, "even if it was for all the right reasons."

But Ria shook her head. "You would, Myst. We both know you would hate yourself for it, you would spend every minute wishing you hadn't done it, but you would do it anyway. To save the world..."

Myst didn't answer. In all honestly, she wasn't so sure. She knew Chris could not comprehend the idea of killing Wyatt, even if he spoke about his brother like some true evil, like the Source. The question remained; how far could anyone truly go to save the world? At what point would they cross the line and sell their soul the way Wyatt had? How did anyone even know where that particular line was?

When did wrong and right become so similar?

"I'm sorry," Ria murmured, breaking in to Myst's troubled thoughts.

Myst managed a short grin. "For telling me I was going to make Chris miserable? That I was being a fool, clinging to something that wasn't there?" She shook her head slowly. "You don't have to apologize. You were right."

Ria shrugged. In a perfect world, right and wrong would matter. But this was not a perfect world, and she knew that sometimes, to keep friends and family together, to stop everything from falling apart, you had to apologize for something that wasn't your fault, had to say you were sorry when you weren't, when you knew you hadn't been wrong in the first place. "Is that why you went to find Bianca?"

Myst blinked rapidly, trying to come up with a suitable answer. But Ria was staring at her with a piercing gaze, waiting for her reply, and she found she could think of nothing, no lies, no twisted half-truths. She lowered her gaze and said finally, "No. I went to find her... I trust her... not because of what she did, but because of the one thing she was never able to do."

Ria did not press further, but Myst had the feeling that she understood the hidden meanings in those words. Did she know that Bianca had not gone through with the betrayal? Did she know that the Phoenix had actually attacked Wyatt, putting her own life in harm's way, just to help Myst rescue Chris? It was hard to tell, and Ria's gaze was so unreadable that Myst found herself looking away rather than trying to decipher what was before her.

When Ria spoke again, her voice was almost inaudible, but she asked a question that would haunt Myst for the rest of her life, and even after that, even once she had died and crossed over to the realm of spirits.

"We all want to save the world. You, me, Adam, Chris. Prue. Wyatt. Bianca. How is it that if we all want the same thing, if we all want a safe and peaceful world, we've managed to completely screw it up?"

Myst never got the chance to answer, as at that moment Bianca appeared before them, her face lined with anxiety. "I found him," she said in a hushed voice, "and if we are going to do this, we need to do it now."

"Where is he?" Ria asked, jumping to her feet.

"The dungeons," Bianca answered grimly, and Ria's heart nearly stopped beating, "in the basement. We don't have much time."

"You think Wyatt will hurt him? Put his life in danger?" Myst asked worriedly.

"Honestly?" Bianca shook her head, "No, I don't. But is that a chance any of us can really afford to take?" She extended her hands to the others. "Come on. Let's do this."

* * *

Next Chapter: Out of the Woods  
Due: Tue 9/23


	45. Out of the Woods

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So, there is character death in this chapter. A pretty significant one, actually...

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five: Out of the Woods

Even with spells to change their appearance, Bianca had been right - Myst and Ria were far too noticeable. Any demon with the ability to sense white-lighters could pick up on Ria's presence, and a few trackers that worked for Wyatt had no trouble identifying Myst for what she really was. The only saving grace of the situation was that the demons and warlocks had to be close to the infiltrating three to sense anything, and so far Bianca or Myst had managed to vanquish anyone who might be a problem.

But it was becoming more difficult to navigate the twisted hallways.

Clinging to the shadows afforded by the lack of lighting - did Evil always use dimly lit areas as their base of operations and wasn't that just a little bit cliché - they moved slowly, cautiously, towards the staircase that lead down into the basement, into the dungeons.

"Here's the thing," Bianca whispered, "the minute we get Chris out of his cell, Wyatt's demons will be everywhere. Wyatt himself will probably come. So... yeah, that's going to be a problem."

"How are we possibly going to be able to fight Wyatt?"

"Well, if we can get out of the dungeons..." Bianca gave the air around her a thoughtful stare. "I should be able to shimmer from here. There's an anti-orbing spell in effect, but not one against shimmering."

"But we still have to get here," Myst countered. "And its a long way to fight... out of the dungeons, up the stairs..."

Bianca slanted a pointed look at the blonde warrior and asked, "Do you have a better idea?"

There really wasn't anything Myst could say to that, so she just shrugged and followed Bianca quietly towards the stairs. A moment later, however, the Phoenix hesitated, tension appearing along the line of her lower jaw, and she caught Myst's eyes and gestured with her head to a space a few feet behind them.

Myst gave the tiniest of nods to show she understood, and one hand slid slowly down to the thin knife latched into her best. She rested her hand on the hilt and waited for a sound, any sounds. The echo of feet on the ground, the too-loud inhalation of breath...

And then she spun around, drawing the knife in one fluid movement and sending it slicing through the empty air in front of her. It collided with something large and solid and invisible, and a moment later a demon seemed to grow into existence before their very eyes. He howled with rage, but was far too late to stop the inevitable, and soon went up in a rush of flames.

Ria let out the breath she did not realize she had been holding, and turned to Myst. "Nice aim."

Myst smiled, a little distracted, and asked Bianca, "Any more?"

But the Phoenix shook her head and motioned for them to continued forward. Still, it did bother her that this particular demon had tried to sneak up on them. Why hadn't it attacked right away or rushed back to Wyatt to report about the intruders? He suspected them of something, obviously...

She forced the worried thoughts from her head and seized the door to the basement, yanking it open to reveal a long line of steps that disappeared into the gloom.

Ria inched closer and frowned. "I don't like the look of that," she remarked, but knowing Chris was down there, she started the descent anyway, seeing no reason to delay in their rescue. Bianca and Myst followed behind, all apprehensive, all waiting for another attack to come.

They reached the bottom of the stairs soon enough, but the light was such that only Bianca, with her senses heightened by genetics and years of training, could see anything. And even she could not see enough to have any idea where Chris could be.

"What now?" Ria asked from somewhere in the darkness.

"There's some light over there," Myst said, although they could not see which way she was pointing. But a moment later Ria caught sight of the thin line of light near the bottom of the hallway, like light coming from underneath a closed door.

"Do you think Chris is there?" Bianca questioned.

"I don't think Wyatt would keep him here in the dark," Ria answered, although why she thought that was beyond anyone's understanding. Still, her instinct was all they had to go on at the moment, so the three of them inched forward towards the door, hoping to find their missing witch-lighter on the other side.

* * *

Chris found himself fiddling with a piece of stone that had somehow been knocked loose from the cement floor. It was smooth on one end, and roughly jagged on the other. It was the only remotely interesting thing he'd seen in a long time, so it absorbed his full attention. He twisted it over and over in his hands, inspecting every crevice and every crack, thinking vaguely to himself that he was _incredibly _bored.

And then one of the demons standing in front of the cell burst into flames.

Chris dropped the stone and jumped to his feet, eyes wide. Where the demon had stood only moments before was now a pile of ash, and the other three demons guarding him had all conjured energy balls or fireballs. They were facing some intruder he could not see, and one flung his energy ball forward. But whether or not it hit its intended target, Chris had no idea. Two of the demons moved out of his line of sight, but the third prepared to shimmer away, his body already partially disappearing when a voice cried out in frantic fear, "He's going to warn Wyatt! Stop him!"

"Ria?" Chris murmured, recognizing the tone but not quite sure he could believe his ears. How had she gotten here?

As he tried to contemplate that, however, he was even more surprised to see an athame come out of nowhere and stab the departing demon in the chest only a split-second before he was completely gone, and soon he, too, was nothing more than ash.

"Nice shot," the Ria-voice said, and it was answered by another voice, one he knew for certain he recognized, one he had never thought he would hear ever again.

"Thank you."

Bianca.

She walked in front of the cage, casually picking up the discarded athame and staring at the bars with a contemplative expression. Myst and Ria followed her, having successfully disposed of the demon, and all three of them stared at the heavy slats that separated them and Chris.

"It will be enhanced by some kind of magic protection, and the minute we break it, Wyatt will know," Bianca said, not looking at Chris. He had the feeling she was purposefully avoiding his eyes, and he wanted more than anything to reach through the space between them, catch her by the shoulders, and force her to look at him.

"The bars themselves shouldn't be a problem," Ria said, and she gave Chris a wan smile. "Don't worry, we'll get you out of here soon."

"What are you... how did you...?"

"Long story," Myst answered dismissively, but with a grin for the witch-lighter. "We will tell you everything when we're back at the safe-house."

"Wyatt's spells are not going to be easy to break," Bianca continued, still ignoring Chris and the conversation that had passed between the others. "And we really don't have much time. Ria, do you think you have the power...?"

"To match Wyatt? Not a chance."

"What about you and Chris combined?" Myst suggested. "You should be able to reach through the bars and take his hand, thereby calling upon his powers." To Chris, she said, "I presume Wyatt stripped your powers?" After receiving an affirmative nod, she continued, "Still... he is a Halliwell, so the family magic is still there..."

"All of us cousins combined would not be enough to take on Wyatt," Ria murmured. "Even the Power of Three wouldn't stand a chance."

"I think it is enough," Myst answered firmly. "I mean... think about it. Wyatt isn't going to expect us to have gotten this far. Just like he never expected Bianca would come back here. His arrogance works in our favor. The spell won't be his strongest magic, so Chris and Ria combined..."

Once again, Bianca asked the pointed question, "Does anyone have any better ideas?"

When there was no reply to give to that inquiry, Ria stepped forward and slid her hand through the space between two stone bars. "Take my hand," she ordered, and Chris felt his entire body sag with relief when he touched her skin, when he realized that this was not just an illusion, but she really, truly there. He pressed his fingers tightly into hers, willing all his power and all his magic and all his heritage to pass from his body into hers.

Ria closed her eyes, focusing, and then said in a commanding tone, "Open!"

"Open?" Bainca repeated, dumbfounded. "That's your spell? Where are all the rhymes? It's supposed to be a poem."

But Myst walked forward, two knives in her hands, and slashed through the bars. Her deadly weapons easily cleaved the stone in half, and the slats crumbled before her, leaving a hole in the cell. As Chris scrambled through, Myst turned to Bianca and said, "It worked."

"Yeah, but... open? I mean... _really_?"

"What is _she _doing here?" Chris hissed at Ria, jerking his head towards the Phoenix.

"Saving your life," Bianca shot back before Ria could answer.

And whatever retort Chris was sure to give was lost as the room was filled with the sudden swirl of blue and black orbs. Chris went pale, and Myst moved protectively towards him, standing between him and the new danger. Ria whispered the one name, "Wyatt."

But it was Bianca who still had the presence of mind to act, and before the orbs had fully coalesced into Wyatt, she had flung her athame at him, sending it spinning through the air towards his chest. He caught it easily, even as the rest of him solidified, but Bianca was still on the offensive, and she managed to knock his off-balance with a well-aimed kick. He stumbled back, but telekinetically shoved the Phoenix to her knees as he regained his balance. The breath was knocked out of her, but her assassin training and instincts still forced her to move, and she rolled to the side, flinging an energy ball at him as she did so. He dodged, and tightened his hand into a fist, cutting of her air supply.

"Leave her alone, Wyatt," Ria said, walking forward. "We're the ones you want."

"That's alright, little cousin, I think I can handle all of you. With some help, of course." As he spoke the words, the air around Wyatt suddenly filled with demons and warlocks, all blinking or shimmering into the room as though summoned.

In the chaos that followed, Myst tossed a sword to Chris and prayed that even without his powers he would have the ability to fight off his attackers. She hoped that Bianca had been right, that Wyatt did not want to kill Chris, but she couldn't take that chance. However, as three demons closed around her, she had to let thoughts of Chris go so that she could protect herself.

Chris caught the sword easily and swung it at the nearest demon. He went up in flames, but two others came closer, and soon the witch-lighter was fighting furiously against his enemies. None of the demons appeared willing to seriously injure him in any way, probably due to orders from Wyatt, but they were still dangerous enough. He turned, twirling, slashing, dodging back and forth. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of Ria, fighting hard against two opponents, and Myst easily handling at least three, possibly four, warlocks. But Bianca had taken on Wyatt himself, and Chris, try as he might to remind himself that she had betrayed him before and did not deserve his concern or compassion, still found himself fearing for her safety.

"I could have given you so much, Bianca," Wyatt said, circling her slowly. Somehow she'd managed to still attack him without any oxygen, and he found himself smiling at her determination and fierce stubbornness. Here was an assassin who refused to die. "If you had just stayed on my side, instead of betraying me... twice, now... Imagine the power you could have had. Why would you throw it all away?"

Bianca darted forward, and Wyatt parried her attack, blocking her punches and throwing one of his own. She ducked and spun, kicking him in the shins. As he stumbled forward, she caught him by the shoulders and hissed in a tone low enough for only him to hear, "Your brother, Wyatt. I threw it all away for Chris. Pity you aren't willing to do the same."

In a fit of blind rage, Wyatt flung out his hands, pure energy flying towards Bianca. She was thrown heavily through the air, and slammed hard into the stone floor, her vision temporarily fading to black as she struggled to stay conscious.

"Bianca!" The panic in Chris' voice was not lost on his brother, nor was the momentary confusion or the determined look of indifference as Chris attempted to turn his back on the Phoenix. Even after all this time... it didn't take much for Wyatt to realize just how much Chris had cared for the assassin.

Ria circled her own opponent, a female demon with a cruel smirk and a mocking look in her eyes. The demon moved closer, her eyes flashing with anticipation, as she whispered, "Your cousin is a fool, little witch. He gave orders that you and his brother were not to be killed, but did he really think we would listen?"

Ria raised an eyebrow questioningly, but did not stop moving. They were close now, having given up the use of powers and instead resorted to hand-to-hand combat. She was bruised and battered, but her blood was pumping and her adrenaline was rushing, and she kept pushing forward.

"He dares to think that he is the Overlord of the World. He thinks he is unstoppable, that he can defeat all his opponents. But Evil is not simply going to submit, and there are some of us who sit right under his nose and he doesn't even realize we can't be trusted," the demon continued. As she caught Ria by the arm, an athame appeared in her hand, and she added, "And in this frenzied fight, he won't even know which one of us to blame for your death."

Ria opened her mouth to cry out, but too late, and the sharp blade drove deep into her stomach. She gurgled, choking on the blood that rose into her throat as she collapsed to her knees. The demon above her faded back into another part of the fight, the athame disappearing from her hand, but Ria paid no attention to what was happening all around her. She could do nothing but fall into agony as the world went slowly black.

Right before death took her and her spirit left her body, she managed to whisper, "Adam... I'm... sorry..."

"NO!"

The cries left from both Chris and Wyatt at exactly the same time. But even as Wyatt moved to Ria's side, he could see it was too late.

In the panic and anger that filled the room, Myst made a split-second decision. Reaching up, she touched the pendant on her neck, opening a portal to Valhalla, to the island home she had not visited since Wyatt's takeover so many months ago. She yanked Bianca to her feet, supporting the dazed Phoenix, and sized Chris' arm. Guilt filled her, but she knew they had no choice, and Ria was gone anyway. So she pulled the two living witches behind her, and stepped through the portal, leaving Ria's body behind.

The portal closed behind them, and Chris fell to his knees, crying. "We have to go back!" he yelled at Myst. "Take us back!"

"It's too late," Myst said quietly. "Ria... she's gone, Chris. We could all feel it... her soul left. It moved on. She... she's gone and... I'm so sorry."

"No... no..." Chris shook his head in denial, refusing to believe that his cousin could have died while trying to save his life. It was all his fault, he had been responsible...

Myst turned away, unable to bear the agony in Chris' eyes, and looked at their surroundings.

The island was almost unrecognizable. The trees were ruined, either dying or already destroyed by swords or fire. No longer did the grass look green and fresh, no longer was the land dotted with waterfalls and clear pools. A sense of gloom hung over everything, and even the sky above them was gray and filled with storm clouds. The ground was stained red in some places, testimony to all the blood that had been shed during the fight for the island.

But worst of all was the silence. The emptiness. Wyatt's minions had abandoned the place not long after securing it, and it was now a wasteland. What had once been filled with movement and chatter and training was now completely still. Completely quiet. The faint traces of her deceased sister lingered in the air, as though wanting to return to a home that was no longer there. Everything was simply... gone.

"We need to go," Bianca said, cutting into Myst's thoughts. "It's only a matter of time before Wyatt comes after us. He saw the portal, he knows where we went."

"I'm surprised we were even able to get here," Myst admitted. "I wasn't even sure it would work... the pendant, I mean. It isn't like this is my home anymore, and... Wyatt might have blocked it off."

Bianca took her hand and then reached for the still grieving Chris. "His arrogance, once again. He didn't think we'd try to come here." And with that simple explanation, she shimmered them all away.

* * *

"No."

"Adam..."

"No... no, you're wrong. You... you have to be. She can't be... no. _No_!"

"She was."

Adam choked back his fear and grief as he fell to his knees, eyes filling with tears. "No..." he whispered, although now his voice lacked any conviction. "That can't be..."

"I'm sorry," Chris replied, reaching out towards Adam. The other boy fell into his embrace, his body shaking with sobs. "I'm so sorry," he repeated. "This is all my fault, if only..."

"No," Adam countered, his voice muffled against Chris' chest. "Not your fault..."

But his retort did little to console Chris, who could not keep the self-loathing from filling him. How could he have let this happen? He was the oldest, and it was his job to protect everyone. And he'd failed.

Myst and Bianca stood behind them, in the doorway to the room. Myst's face was streaked with tears, her eyes rimmed with red. Bianca's face was blank, showing no feeling, but her hands had curled tightly at her side, her knuckles white. The emotion she could not show on her face was obvious in the tension stiffening her body.  
Nobody was supposed to die.

Prue was standing opposite them, on the other side of the room. She, too, was crying.

And then Chris looked up at her and the two locked gazes. And Chris' eyes went from gentle green to nearly black in fury. He pushed Adam away and stood, rising swift and angrily. "How could you?" he spat at Prue. "How could you do this to me? To us? Ria is dead because of you. _Dead_!"

"I..." Prue faltered, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. "I never... this wasn't supposed to..."

"What, Prue?" Chris snarled. "What wasn't supposed to happen? Ria wasn't supposed to die? Is that it?"

"Chris..."

"You sold me out to Wyatt! How could you?" His words were sharp, his rage crackling all around him with the intensity of electricity. Prue was shrinking away from him, shaking with tears of loss and grief and fear and bewildered helplessness. But Chris didn't see the pain, didn't see anything other than the one person who had caused all this to happen, had set off the chain of events that lead to Ria's death.

"I was trying to do the right thing," Prue said finally, "and I never..."

"What was she? Collateral damage?" Chris advanced slowly, and behind him, Adam rose to his feet. He seemed as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't, and Chris kept creeping closer and closer to Prue.

"I didn't know this would happen!"

Chris shook his head, not caring. "Get out," he spat at her. "Get out of my sight!"

Prue rushed past him, sobbing, shaking, tears streaming down her face, falling onto her clothing. Chris did not even turn to watch her go, but simply stood there until he heard the door to the room close. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he moved around to face the others.

Adam wiped the tears from his eyes and muttered, "I need to... be... alone." And he left the room as well.

Myst watched him for for a moment, worried. She doubted he would do anything stupid, but she couldn't shake the feeling that, torn by grief, he might become reckless. And Chris had already lost one cousin, and basically disowned another... she was not going to let anything happen to this one.

"I'm going to check on him," Myst said simply, and followed Adam.

Leaving Chris and Bianca alone in the room, staring at each other as the silence fell between them.

* * *

Next Chapter: Everybody's Fool

Due: Fri 9/26


	46. Everybody's Fool

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: The lyrics used in this chapter are from _Everbody's Fool_ by _Evanescence_. And the chapter is entirely first-person POVs, and alternates between various characters. Pay attention to the changes.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six: Everybody's Fool

_**Perfect by nature,  
Icons of self-indulgence.  
Just what we all need,  
More lies about a world that  
Never was and never will be.**_

_**Have you no shame?  
Don't you see me?  
You know you've got everybody fooled.**_

_Chris' POV_

"Why?"

"Why what, Chris?"

She sounded tired, and that alone brought the fury flooding into my veins. I was the one who had just been sold out by my cousin and held prisoner by my older brother. I was the one covered in bruises courtesy of Wyatt's demons. I was the one she had betrayed before, and now that she was standing here, staring at me with her hypnotic brown eyes, how dare she be the one to sound weary?

"Everything, Bianca," I snapped. "Why did you do any of it?" She didn't answer my question, just stared at me, head tilted to the side, contemplating my features as though she had never seen a witch before. "Tell me why!"

"I didn't have a choice," she said, averting her gaze. Dark hair falling over dark eyes hiding some secret that she did not want me to know.

"You _always _have a choice! _Always_. And you made yours." The way Wyatt made his, the way I made mine. Choices that put us on opposite sides of the playing board. Choices that defined who we were and what we believed in, what we stood for. "Why did you choose that?"

She looked at me suddenly, and I had to fight the urge not to get lost in her eyes, not to give in to the little voice in the back of my mind that was asking pointedly wasn't I happy she was here?

"Choose what exactly?" she asked, voice low and dangerous. "Life? Survival? Protecting my family?"

"No," I retorted, "not any of those. Why did you choose _Wyatt_?" And in the silence between us, in the way her eyes widened ever so slightly and her lips narrowed into a thin line, I knew she heard what I was really asking.

Why didn't you choose me?

She didn't answer.

"How do you live with what you did? How do you sleep at night? How do you not hear children screaming in your head, children you killed?" The way I hear that boy screaming, over and over. How can you stand here and look as though you don't even care about what you did, and I have to live with the constant horror of all the lives Wyatt took, the lives I couldn't save?

Like Ria.

"What makes you think I sleep at all?" she asked, her voice a whisper, her words filled with something I still did not understand. She turned away and walked over to the window. Outside, the sun was sinking, turning the entire world a fiery golden color. "Your Resistance is a joke, you know that, right? This is a war, and you are most certainly on the losing side."

"Is that all this is for you?" I sneered. "_Winning_?" If winning was the only thing that mattered, I would have joined Wyatt long ago, and stayed by his side no matter what. But there were greater things at stake here, and how could this woman that I had loved really be standing here in front of me telling me that she didn't care about _any of it_?

"If all I cared about was winning, do you really think I would have turned on Wyatt the way I just did?"

I didn't have a reply to that, but it didn't matter, because Bianca continued speaking as though she didn't actually want to hear what I had to say anyway.

"And how do you sleep, Chris, knowing you are plotting your brother's death?"

I flinched, swallowing back the bitter retort and blinking away the tears. I could see Wyatt standing in front of me, Excalibur thrown at my feet, taunting me to use it, to kill him. "I'm not going to kill him," I said, swallowing the lump that formed in my throat and wishing I could think of something besides all the times I had failed to protect my family.

Ria...

She looked at me again, a cruel smile twisting her lips. "Did it _ever _occur to you, Chris, that you might not have a choice?"

And that was the problem. That was exactly the problem because I knew that I could never stand by Wyatt, could never let him ruin everything I had ever fought for, but I could not kill him either. If it came down to choosing, would I let the world burn a million times over before I killed my own brother? Probably... And in that sense, Wyatt and I were still exactly alike.

"You can stand there and judge me all you want, Chris, but first take a moment to think over your own actions!" She was glaring, her eyes accusing, and I found myself screaming back at her with an intensity even I did not know I possessed.

"Damn it, Bianca, I..."

"You _what_?"

"I loved you!"

A silence descended between us, so heavy and so tense that my breath caught in my throat and Bianca looked just as shocked. By the time I had actually registered what I had admitted to her, it was far too late to take back the words, and she seemed to be struggling to form some kind of response. I braced myself for the derision that I was sure would come, but her mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish out of water, and the silence continued, deafening in its finality.

"I loved you," I said again, because as long as I had already admitted it, and as long as she knew my feelings, I might as well keep going forward with them. "I loved you, and you... you _betrayed _me."

"No, I _didn't_!"

And I knew suddenly that she had not intended to say that at all. The ice in her eyes started crumbling, falling away until I could see the true emotion underneath. Her eyes were glistening, tears forming, ready to fall but held at bay only be her sheer strength of will, as though she would not, could not, break in front of me.

"_What_?"

"I..." she faltered, but she did not need to say anything because I saw the truth in the lines of her face, in the exhaustion in her eyes. Still, she spoke, and my heart seemed to race, getting faster and faster with every word she spoke. "I never went back to Wyatt. I gave the pendant back to Myst. I attacked your brother, I risked my life, so that Myst could help you escape, get you back to Valhalla! I betrayed my family, _my clan_... for you. And I spent the past year running, hiding... Staying away from him. From _everyone_. I _screwed up everything_ when I refused to... I gave up my clan, I let them _disown _me, so that I could keep you safe!"

"You didn't...?" I could only gasp, and now my lungs were pushing so hard against my chest that I thought they would soon explode from the effort.

"No! I didn't! I _chose _not to because I _couldn't_! Because, damn it Chris, I _loved _you too!" And without another word, she turned and stalked from the room, and all I could do was stare after her, caught in my own agonizing thoughts.

_**Look here she comes now,  
Bow down and stare in wonder.  
Oh, how we love you,  
No flaws when you're pretending.**_

_Myst's POV  
_

I found Adam in his room. He didn't look up when I entered, didn't acknowledge that I was even standing there, staring at him. I waited for him to say something, because with Adam, I knew I would never get a conversation unless I let him be the one to start it.

After a few minutes of silence, Adam asked, "How did she die? What was it... like?"

I hesitated. "We didn't see. It was... one of Wyatt's demons, I think. It all happened so fast. She was stabbed." I thought about it for a moment, going through the event over and over in my mind, hoping I could find some other detail to share. But I remembered little besides Chris and Wyatt both screaming, and Ria's body falling to the floor. "It was quick," I said after a moment. "I don't think... there wasn't really enough time for her to feel pain."

Adam nodded. His expression was blank, and that was more frightening the the grief and loss that had marred his features moments before. "Where is her body?"

"With Wyatt," I said, choking on the words. With Wyatt, because I had left her there, left her behind as I tried to save myself, Chris, and Bianca. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "I... I should have..."

"There was nothing you could have done," Adam answered, his voice still devoid of feeling. He pulled his knees into his chest and leaned back against the wall, the cushions of the bed giving slightly under his weight. "It is Wyatt, after all... and this is such a joke."

"This?" I pressed, not liking the bitter edge that had crept into his voice or the despair that seemed to linger around him like some sort of aura.

"The Resistance." He shook his head, eyes narrowed darkly. "We can't stop Wyatt. We can't save the world."

"Adam..." I stopped, unsure how to continue. The problem was that he was right, we couldn't stop Wyatt. And as long as Wyatt was still there, we couldn't save the world. But Adam had always had some kind of hope, and to see him lose it so completely...

He looked up, briefly, eyes darting around the room before settling on my face. I had the strangest feeling that he was trying to see through me, maybe see my thoughts. I met his gaze, refusing to look away even as his eyes filled with tears that would not fall.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"If it is anyone's fault," Adam disagreed, "it is mine."

"No," I shot back instantly, fervently, "it's not." If it was anyone's fault at all, it was Wyatt's. Not even the blame that Chris had placed so squarely on Prue's shoulders was justified. Wyatt had done this, Wyatt had torn this family apart, sending the world spiraling into darkness, and sending us tumbling after it.

Strangely, memories of Derek came to mind. The man who had so determinedly maintained his son's ability to be save even as the half-Manticore murdered my sisters. But when Jason fell to the demon, that had been the last straw for any of us, and I had carelessly, vindictively, remorselessly taken Derek's life in exchange for all the ones we had lost to his son.

Time had eased the pain of those deaths, or maybe it had just given me so many others to mourn that I no longer felt the same horror at the thoughts of Kyra, Leta, or Landra. They were my sisters, to be sure, and I still loved them greatly. But they were gone, and I had to learn how to live in this new world without them. And without Freya.

I had killed Derek.

But his son had been half-human, and there was a chance he could have turned out differently if only he had not been taken by evil as a child. He, too, had torn us apart, just like Wyatt had. And so, in many ways, this was not even Wyatt's fault. It was the fault of Evil, evil that had taken these children and so many others and turned them into things unrecognizable to us.

But I had killed Derek.

And I would kill Wyatt, if I could. Because blame did not matter nearly as much as survival... no matter the cost.

I looked back at Adam. "Why would you think this is your fault?"

Adam gave a dark laugh and answered cryptically, "Because Destiny always has its way."

_**  
Without the mask, where will you hide?  
Can't find yourself, lost in your lie.**_

_**I know the truth now,  
I know who you are,  
And I don't love you anymore.**_

_Bianca's POV  
_

Strangely, the powerless mortal standing before me was so much more terrifying than Wyatt had ever been.

Daryl was sitting on the lumpy sofa, one hand resting on the cushions where the stuffing was just poking out of dotted moth holes. His other hand was resting in his lap, and he was staring at me with such unbelievable hatred that I fought the urge to run.

Of course, it would be pathetic if a Phoenix assassin, the elite of the elite, ran away from a mortal ex-police inspector.

Still...

"So... Bianca."

I swallowed uneasily. I had never really had contact with Daryl while I was pretending to work for the Resistance, but we had crossed paths once or twice. And, most certainly, he would have been close enough to Chris to bear witness to all the pain I had caused the witch-lighter.

"Hello, Daryl," I said at last.

"How's Wyatt?"

I blinked, a little surprised by the question. I couldn't tell if it was meant in all honesty, if he was actually concerned about Wyatt's wellbeing, or if this was just a subtle and sarcastic way of reminding me what I had done before, how I had betrayed them all.

Unsure, I answered with the vague truth, "I wouldn't know."

"You didn't spend much time talking to him, then?" Again, I had no idea why Daryl was asking these questions.

"I... no, I didn't. But... he seemed pretty... furious... when Ria..." That, I could not finish. It was hard to say the words, hard to admit that I had just watched another Halliwell die.

Daryl averted his face quickly, but not before I saw the glimmer of tears. He had not meant to trade one Halliwell for another, but Chris' return had come at the cost of Ria's life, and we were all feeling guilty for that.

He had not spoken to me when I returned with Myst several days before. He had not been verbally opposed to my presence, but neither had he welcomed it. And now that Ria was dead, it was obvious I was unwelcome here. Then again... had I ever been welcome in the first place?

I knew I should have told them all the truth as soon as I returned. I still didn't know exactly what had happened, what had caused me to keep my secrets to myself and silently request for Myst to do the same. They knew a little of what had happened, of Matt's death and my expulsion from Wyatt's ranks, but the full truth of the matter... I had told Chris, and now that he knew, it would only be a matter of time before the others did as well. Now was my chance to explain, to justify, to say something that would erase some of the hatred, but...

The words stuck in my throat, and I remained silent.

"Why?" Daryl asked after a moment, and I was struck by the similarity to Chris's initial question.

This time, however, I knew I needed to give the real answer. I needed to tell him... "Because Chris killed the Phoenix Matriarch."

"Wh-what?"

I spun, and Daryl turned as well, to find Chris standing in the doorway to the room, staring at me with haunted eyes. "Chris..." I started, and then stopped, because this was something I had never meant to reveal to him. At least, certainly not in this way.

"I thought... Ria said that it was Wyatt..."

"So she told you what I told her?" I asked, remembering that day so long ago that Ria had first approached me with her suspicion and her dislike. It had been on Valhalla, and when she had asked me why I was doing this, I had said... "I told her that my aunt... Tanya, the Phoenix Matriarch, had been killed by a Halliwell son. She took it to mean Wyatt."

"But I..." Chris shook his head in denial. "I would never..."

"She was trying to get the pendant from you," I explained, "and you acted in self-defense." But his self-defense had come at the expense of my family, and even after all this time, that loss burned so deep in my heart. Tanya and Matt, both lost to me because of the Halliwells. But Tanya was dead at Chris' hand, and Matt had been killed by my own...

Now the entire clan was gone, no longer thinking of me as family.

"Did you ever tell us the truth? Even once?" Daryl murmured, and when I looked at him, I suddenly realized just how old and tired he was. "Or was everything just continual lies?"

How could I even begin to work my way out of all this? The lies I had told, the people I had betrayed, the lives I had destroyed? Everything was a complete mess, a tangled web that trapped me so thoroughly.

"I..." I turned away from Daryl and stared at the wall next to Chris, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered, and that was something I had rarely said.

Chris turned and walked out of the room.

_**It never was and never will be,  
You don't know how you've betrayed me,  
And somehow you've got everybody fooled.**_

_Adam's POV_

Destiny had warned me...

But I did not listen.

I did not want to choose between Ria and the world. I did not want to have to erase my sister in order to save the lives of thousands of innocents I had never met, never would meet.

Destiny had warned me... be careful what I wished for...

Because I might just get it.

I didn't have to choose anymore. Ria was gone, and she was never coming back. I couldn't save her...

And this was all my fault.

_**  
It never was and never will be,  
You're not real and you can't save me.  
Somehow now you're everybody's fool.**_

* * *

Next Chapter: By the Stark Light of Day

Due: Wed 10/1


	47. By the Stark Light of Day

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So, once again, I need to give the warning that there will be character death in this chapter as well. And, once again, it is a pretty significant character that dies.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven: By the Stark Light of Day

I should have known.

It is the only thought that enters my mind as I stare at the body sprawled out before, hair matted by blood, lips pale, eyes unseeing. The pendant, green stone glistening in the brutal sunlight, hangs limply from my hand, another reminder that she is gone. I cannot even begin to process anything, even as the dark red liquid pools below her chest, even as I sense hersoul departing the world. I can only think one thing.

I should have known.

Why did I think Wyatt would not strike back? Why did I not plan for this inevitability? He'd already threatened her more than once, so How could I have not known...?

"I'm sorry, Myst," I choked, but even those words seemed hollow and cold because I could not even begin to comprehend the truth. How could she be gone? She was here, always. She had been my support, the only person I could truly count on during the last several days. The turmoil that had plagued us all since Ria's death had left me grasping for some sort of help, and she had been the one who caught my hand before I fell to pieces.

Why could I have not done the same for her?

I should have known.

* * *

_Five days earlier...  
_

Chris orbed into the room, glancing around quickly to make sure that no one had seen him enter. He doubted Adam would have even noticed, and Prue was avoiding them all as much as possible, but he was sure to receive another lecture from Daryl or David, and he did not want to listen to them right now.

They had switched safe-houses that evening. They had already switched them twice in the three days since he had escaped from Wyatt. Wyatt, it seemed, was becoming better and better informed, and was able to stage attacks on them quickly and competently, forcing the three remaining Halliwells to flee over and over again.

It was a relief to have his powers back, after so long without them. The freedom he felt, the ability to orb anywhere in the world, had allowed him some escape from the perpetual grief. It was as though he thought if he ran long enough, fast enough, far enough, he might be able to outrun the past.

He still saw Ria's horrified expression plastered behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes. He did not sleep anymore.

"You're back late."

He spun around at the sound of the voice, and frowned at Myst. She was staring at him, smiling gently, almost pityingly. Leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed into a thin line, however, he knew that her compassion would not be enough to get him out of a conversation with her.

"Yes," he agreed finally.

"Where were you?" she asked, taking a few steps into the room.

Chris shrugged. "Helping some witches that had been attacked. Wyatt's demons are having a field day right now. And the mortals are not going to be pleased."

"Wyatt has the President under his thumb," Myst pointed out. "He's handling the situation with the mortals."

Chris snorted. "He's causing the situation as well," he countered. "Anyway, he's tried handling the situation more than once. Sooner or later, things are going to backfire on him. They always do. He should know by now that mortals can be very, very dangerous."

Myst didn't say anything right away. He wondered what she thought of the situation, and of Wyatt's methods. But when she spoke, she did not address either of those issues.  
"Do you know what your father did, after Jason was killed?"

Chris frowned at the question, trying to remember if he had even seen his father after his uncle's death. But he couldn't remember them interacting, besides the one time Leo threw him in the cage and kept him from leaving the island. He looked at Myst, a wry smirk on his lips, and answered sarcastically, "Why would I care?"

"He left Valhalla all the time," Myst explained quietly. "He kept going on missions to rescue more and more witches. He saved entire covens, almost singlehandedly."

"Good for him," Chris snapped irritably. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Myst answered with a shrug. "I just find it interesting."

Chris curled his hands into fists, anger reflected in his eyes. "Are you implying that I am somehow like my father?" he demanded hotly. "Because I am not like him, not at all!"

Again, Myst shrugged. "I wasn't implying anything at all, Chris. I was only remarking that it was interesting." She walked over to his bed and sat down on the cushions. "Were you successful in rescuing the witches?"

"Yes," Chris answered, his words a little sharper than intended. At any other time, Myst's presence would have been welcome, but he knew what she was doing. She might claim that there was no implicit comparison in her words, but he wasn't going to fall for that particular lie. She was trying to talk to him without actually talking about the subject, and it annoyed him. Couldn't she tell he didn't want to talk?

"What are you going to do about Bianca?"

Chris lifted his gaze towards Myst, surprised. He knew that neither assassin nor warrior liked each other, so to have her inquire about something like that was more than just a little unexpected. "What do you mean?"

"Well, so far she's staying here since she doesn't really have anywhere else to go. Does that mean we trust her?"

Chris rubbed his eyes wearily, and slumped against the wall. Bianca had avoided him during the past few days, but she also had remained with them during their moves from one safe-house to another. He could feel her presence as she lingered around the place, just out of his line of vision, but always on his mind.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think I am really the best person to judge that."

"You love her," Myst said, her expression darkening just a little.

"With all my heart," Chris answered. "But how can I ever trust her again?"

"Do you believe that she loves you as well?"

Chris pondered the question for a moment. She had admitted that she loved him, she had nearly shouted it at him in a fit of rage. And in that moment, he had sincerely believed that she was too upset, too bewildered, too lost, to have been able to lie to him. Except... Bianca was an accomplished actress, something she had proven to them once already. With her, it was just too difficult to tell what was an honest admittance and what was part of some larger plot.

He looked at Myst again. Contrary to what he was sure his cousins thought, he was not so oblivious. He knew how she felt about him, had known it for a long time. He loved her, but he was not in love with her, and he was pretty sure that she knew that as well. It had come as a shock to discover that she had known all along about Bianca's refusal to betray him, and sometimes he wondered if her decision to respect Bianca's request and not reveal the truth to him might have been prompted just as much by her own feelings for him as by her desire to keep him from getting hurt again.

But Myst had gone to Bianca and asked for help. Not Ria, not Adam. _Myst_.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Myst smiled bitterly. "Does it matter?"

"It does to me," Chris replied honestly. "More than you could possibly realize."

Myst nodded slowly. "I don't know if you can trust her, Chris. But I do know one thing. She did risk everything, sacrifice everything, to rescue you from Wyatt. And I just don't see how that could have been part of a larger scheme. I don't see where the betrayal could be." If it was tearing her apart inside to inform Chris that some other woman loved him, those emotions did not show on her face. Her eyes were calm, serene.

Chris chuckled darkly. "Well, it wouldn't be love if it wasn't extremely difficult, incredibly stupid, and probably forbidden."

Myst rose to her feet. "You know, Chris, whether you would like to admit it or not, you are like your father. In more ways than one." And so saying, she left the room.

* * *

The following day was met with more dismal news from the outside world. Wyatt's demonic forces had destroyed three public buildings, killing over fifty mortals and injuring several hundred.

Daryl walked into the small meeting room, his arms laden with newspapers and print-outs of Internet documents. He dumped them on the table in front of Chris and Myst, and took a seat across from the two. There was no mistaking the fear and concern on his features, or the apprehension in his tone as he spoke.

"He's made another move."

"It doesn't make any sense," Myst murmured, pulling one newspaper towards her and staring at the photo splashed across the front page. It showed a building going up in smoke and flames, and people screaming as they tried to escape from the second and third floors. "If his plan is to keep mortals in check through use of a puppet government, why would he give the masses one more reason to fear him?"

"Fear keeps people in check," Chris murmured.

"Not usually," Myst countered. "Not when it is this many people. Fear didn't stop the witch hunters, did it? It just made them crazy."

"I don't even get what his angle is on these three buildings," Daryl interjected. "One was a bank tower, another was a library, the third a factory. And in different parts of the city as well."

"What now?" Chris muttered, painfully aware that this new ploy on the part of his brother was going to make their challenges even greater. "We'll have to protect witches from mortals and demons alike."

"I think that's the point," Myst answered, her tone conveying her disgust for the entire situation. "He's trying to show us that we _can't _protect them. There is no way we can fight mortals everywhere. Not with fear running rampant and the desire to fight back so strong. They might not have magic, but their weapons are not to be taken lightly."

"I can't believe Wyatt would kill all those people just to prove a point..." Chris whispered. Except, of course, that he could believe it. Because he had seen just what Wyatt was capable of doing, and how he could use his twisted logical to justify almost any course of action.

"It's his way of grieving, also," Daryl said softly, shaking his head. "This is how he mourns Ria."

"Yeah, and I'm betting Ria just _loves _that." Chris rose to his feet and began to pace, trying to wrap his head around this new world. How were they supposed to respond to Wyatt's movements? How could they possibly retaliate or even just cope?

"Do you think he will attack again?" Myst questioned, turning to Chris.

When Chris didn't answer right away, a new voice said, "I think you can pretty much count on it." They glanced towards the doorway, all three moving as one, and found Bianca standing there. Chris stiffened, his heart beating just a little bit faster as it always did in her presence, and next to him, Myst narrowed her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Daryl asked, raising his eyebrows in inquiry.

Bianca walked over to the table and gestured towards the pictures of the three buildings that had been destroyed. "Back when I was running, I made contact with a lot of different factions in the Underworld. There are those who oppose Wyatt, who want nothing more than to see him brought down, and they were all too happy to help someone who had betrayed him once already."

"I'll bet," Chris muttered snidely.

Bianca continued as though she had not heard him, but he saw the way her features tightened slightly at his remark. "One of the factions was lead by a powerful upper level demon named Rein. He claimed to have several spies in many locations, both in Wyatt's ranks and in the world of mortals."

"And let me guess, some of his spies were in the bank tower, the library, and the factory," Daryl said heavily as the pieces fell into place. "And if he thinks that this faction is in any way responsible for Ria's death..."

"He will destroy all of them, and he will kill anyone he needs to in order to do it," Bianca finished, nodding. "Now, Rein might have lead the largest faction, but that was not the only group that opposed Wyatt. There are others, and chances are these others also have strongholds in various mortal places. Which means that Wyatt will continue attacking..."

"... and innocents will die," Chris murmured. "Myst is right, we can't save them all."

* * *

Bianca was right, and another attack came the following afternoon. At the same time, the safe-house was compromised, and Chris found himself frantically searching for Adam among the chaos.

"Adam?" he yelled, telekinetically shoving one of the demons away from him and redirecting an energy ball back at another. Across the room, Myst was fighting several warlocks, but the witch-lighter could not pay her any attention as he continued to struggle through towards the hallway, praying he would find Adam soon.

He finally broke free and sprinted into the hallway. The door to Adam's room had been ripped off its hinges, and the room itself was disheveled and empty. The air was filled with the scent of smoke, and the sudden rush of heat told him a fireball had just slammed past his head and scorched the wall next to him. He spun away from his cousin's room and faced his attacker, a particularly ugly demon with large fangs.

Chris bit back the urge to scream with frustration and fury as he launched another attack on his enemy. The demon was powerful and fast, able to dodge and counter the attacks. But Chris' rage gave him an added power boost, and he finally bested the demon, then stepped back and watched his opponent shriek as flames consumed his body.

He had to find Adam. There was a chance that his cousin could have simply orbed away before the attack started, except that the boy had been so distraught and emotionally troubled since his sister's death that his powers were not working correctly. Leaving him vulnerable to this attack.

"Adam, where are you?"  
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the air rippling, and spun around just in time to attack the newcomer. To his surprise, his blow was easily countered, and he found himself staring at Bianca. She was bleeding from a long scratch down one arm, and her hair was slick with sweat.

"I got Daryl out," she said quickly. "What about the others?"

"I can't find Adam!" Chris replied, near hysterics. He waved towards his cousin's room with one hand, and Bianca turned to glance at the messy room. "Looks like there was some sort of fight."

"No blood," Bianca announced after a quick scan, "which means he probably got out all in one piece. Let's split up, we can cover more ground that way."

At that point Chris was far too desperate to remember that he did not trust the Phoenix, and so he just nodded in agreement with the plan. They separated, Bianca rushing down one hallway, her footsteps echoing over the sound of the frenzied battle. He turned away from her and moved down his own hallway, his senses alert for any clues.

He was not sure how long it took, but by the time he finally found Adam, the younger boy had been backed up against the wall, fighting three warlocks, all of whom seemed to be winning. They blinked in and out, dodging and countering his attacks, and Adam himself had apparently forgotten or been unable to orb.

Chris sent the three warlocks colliding into each other. One of them managed to fling an energy ball back at Chris, and he was forced to duck out of the way. When he straightened again, the warlocks were back on their feet, snarling at him with a rage and fury. They advanced, Adam momentarily forgotten, and Chris felt a brief wave of fear pass through him at the cruelty in their eyes.

And then something hot rushed by him, and the room erupted into flames. The fire cascaded over the ground, licking at the floorboards. Chris spun and saw Prue standing in the doorway, her eyes nearly black with the power she was using, one hand extended in front of her to summon and control the fire. It burned the warlocks instantly, incinerating them and leaving behind nothing more than burnt wood where they had been standing. Not even ashes.

But she had never been able to control her emotions well enough to keep the elements in line with her wishes, and Chris knew the room was about to go up in smoke. He rushed to Adam's side, catching his cousin by the hand. He turned back to Prue, but she had already gone, back out into the hallway, into the fight.

He orbed Adam to safety.

It took over and hour for the others to arrive. Prue came first, and Chris had no idea how she had managed to find them, but didn't care enough to ask. She walked into the main room of the newest safe-house, announced that she was safe, and disappeared again. David came later, relieved to find Adam and Chris had made it out safely. He reported that he had been able to help reestablish most of the compromised witches in other safe locations, and only a few had died in the attack. Bianca was the last to come, with Myst in tow.

"Is everyone alright?" Myst asked quickly, glancing at Chris.

The witch-lighter nodded slowly. "Although we aren't the only ones who were attacked. The news is covered with headlines of Wyatt's forces. They moved in on a public school, and city hall."

"Casualties?"

"It's not reported yet," David answered wearily, flinging a newspaper at Myst. "Means they haven't stopped tallying."

"How long are we safe here?"

"Not long." It was Bianca who answered Chris' question, and she answered it bluntly, and without trying to soften the blow. "Wyatt found the last place, and there weren't even rumors to prepare us. I think we can pretty much assume that he will find us..." she paused, glanced at Chris, and amended, "he will find _you_, no matter what."

"I had seven warlocks attacking me at one point," Myst added, her voice quiet. "He really means business."

"Any idea how the rest of the Underworld is responding?" David questioned.

When no one answered, Bianca offered, "Do you want me to find out?"

"Yes," Chris said firmly, shooting a quick look at Adam, who had yet to speak. "See what you can gather from below. Maybe some of the demons down there have information that can help us." As Bianca shimmered from the room, he turned to Myst. "Seven warlocks?"

"Yes," she said heavily. "Six of them are vanquished now."

A few days later, and Chris will wonder why he did realize that those warlocks had been specifically targeting Myst, why he didn't realize that Wyatt was after her. A few days later, as he stares at her dead body, he'll curse himself for not pursing the topic, for not coming up with a plan to keep her safe.

But at the moment, thoughts of Myst were once again drive from his mind by Adam, who spoke up diffidently, "Where's Daryl?"

"Bianca took him back to his apartment," Chris answered, "and David got a few witches and Valkeries to keep an eye on him. We can't protect him here anymore..." And he could only pray that whatever Wyatt did, he wouldn't kill Daryl.

Adam rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Okay," he whispered.

"Why didn't you just orb?" Chris asked, giving his cousin a scrutinizing stare. There was no missing the far too pale skin, the large shadows under his eyes, the dejected expression on his face. Adam was not coping with Ria's death, not at all.

"I... I tried..." Adam answered, faltering. "I just..."

"Couldn't?" Chris supplied. Both Myst and David moved closer to the two Halliwells, each wearing expressions of sympathy and concern. David's dark eyes were filled with determination as well, and Chris knew that the witch would do everything in his power to keep Adam safe. David had once sworn to protect both of Paige's children because Lila had so badly wanted that, and now Ria was dead...

Adam nodded. "It was like my powers just wouldn't work. I got a little ways, but... only out into the hall. I couldn't get out of the safe-house. So... I ran. But the warlocks could blink, and they followed, and..." He choked on the words and looked down, eyes filling with tears.

"Well, your powers are tied to your emotions," Chris murmured, feeling somewhat disgusted that he sounded so much like a true white-lighter with that statement.

"And let me guess," Adam said sarcastically, tilting his face up towards Chris, "I need to get my emotions under control? Easier said than done."

"I know," Chris offered, but Adam shook his head.

"No, Chris, you don't. Ria's dead, and it is _all _my fault."

"No, Adam, it isn't," Myst countered fiercely. "How can you even think that? You weren't there, you couldn't have protected her."

"I didn't listen," Adam whispered, his words barely audible. "If I had just made the choice..."

"What are you talking about?" David inquired, apprehension evident in his eyes. "Adam, what choice?"

"It doesn't matter," Adam hissed, and turned away from the others, nearly storming from the room.

"Adam," Myst called, and he paused at the doorway, looking at her. "Do you really think this is what Ria would want you to do? Fall apart?"

"What does it matter what she wants?" Adam snapped irritably. "She's _dead_!"

"And if it was the other way around, if it was you who was dead, would you want Ria to be experiencing the same kind of pain you are feeling right now? Would you want her to compromise her safety by letting her emotions interfere with her ability to orb? Would you want that for her?"

Adam seemed to soften under Myst's words, but the haunted look in his eyes did not leave, and that scared Chris for reasons he could not even begin to fathom.

"Of course it hurts. Losing a sister always does," Myst continued, and her eyes unfocused slightly as though she was thinking about something else entirely. Chris glanced at her, seeing the loss of Freya and all the other Valkeries reflected clearly in her light eyes, but Myst only lingered on those thoughts for a moment. She pushed forward, "Saying that it will all be okay is trivializing the pain. But... if you ever want to talk... you have a lot of people who care about you. Who don't want to see you die."

Adam hesitated, before muttering, "I'm not going to matter in the long run anyway." And before anyone could stop him, he had walked from the room, leaving Chris with a sense of unease.

* * *

The next morning, Chris found Myst waiting for him outside his room. He started, surprised to open the door and find her standing there. Instantly, his thoughts went to fears about Wyatt and more attacks, but Myst just smiled at him and asked gently, "How are you doing?"

"Um... fine?"

"I just wanted to check in. Between everything with Ria, and now Adam falling apart and Wyatt's attacks... I figured you might need someone to talk to."

Chris frowned for a moment, before replying pointedly, "When do I ever initiate a conversation of that type with anyone?"

That made Myst smile even more, but she answered just as resolutely, "Maybe, but that doesn't mean you're getting out of _this _conversation so easily."

Chris ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky breath. The idea of confiding all his fears to Myst was both luring and scary. If he said all the things that weighed heavily on his mind, he might lose himself in the terror of Wyatt's reign. But he did need someone to talk to, someone who might be able to help him figure out what to do now.

"The Resistance is over," he said finally.

Myst leaned back against the wall, her arms folded over her chest. "I know," she agreed. "I think, maybe, it has been for a while. We've only barely been keeping it together, and it is time to face reality."

"Freya would throw a fit if she knew we were talking about giving up," Chris remarked.

Myst gave the tiniest hint of a smile as she answered, "So would your father. But neither of them lived to see this time. When they died... there was still hope for us. For the world."

"And now?"

"Honestly?" She shrugged, "I don't know, Chris. I really don't know at all."

"So... is this it? Do we just... roll over and let Wyatt win?"

Myst didn't answer, and it did not take long for Chris to know exactly what she was contemplating. He dropped his gaze, remembering Wyatt standing before him, remembering Excalibur thrown on the floor between them. Remembering the one time salvation was within his grasp, and he had turned away because he simply could not kill his brother.

"Even if any of us were strong enough to fight Wyatt and win... I don't think I would have the strength to go through with it."

Again, Myst did not respond.

"You're disappointed," Chris commented.

Myst shook her head quickly, emphatically. "No. He is still your brother, and the bonds of family are hard to break. But... Chris, one day you might need to face the reality that this is not Wyatt anymore. Now, when you look at him, you are looking at the face of the thing that destroyed him. And Wyatt... the real Wyatt... he would never have wanted this."

For a moment, Chris felt a surge of anger that Myst would presume to have any idea what Wyatt did or did not want. But the anger faded just as soon as it had come because he lifted his head and met her gaze, and saw the sorrow in her eyes. He could see just how much she did not want to be the one suggesting this, and as he stopped to think over her words, he knew she was right. Wyatt, _his _Wyatt, would not have wanted this.

"If it was you doing this, wouldn't you want someone to kill you before you made things even worse?" Myst pressed, and Chris found he could not argue with her statement. She was right, but how would he ever find the strength to do what was necessary?

It all came back to the simple fact that, even if this was the right course of action, even if this was what Wyatt would have wanted, Chris simply did not have the inner strength to kill his own brother.

"I... I just..." He stopped, wiping a hand over his forehead. Guilt twisted his features and tears of frustration and hurt filled his eyes. Tears that would not fall.

"Hey... Chris, look at me," Myst whispered, reaching out and catching his arm. He looked at her, and she said, "No matter what decision you make, I still love you. I still believe in you. I still know that you are a good person. That won't change. _Ever_."

He never did get to respond to her answer because Bianca was suddenly walking towards them from the end of the hallway, and Myst dropped his hand and moved away from him, turning to face the Phoenix.

"What have you heard?"

Bianca stopped in front of them and folded her arms gracefully over chest, her eyes flicking back and forth between the two for a moment before she answered. "Well, the Underworld is certainly angry. And terrified. The factions that originally opposed Wyatt are breaking up. He's causing enough havoc and chaos that most don't want to fight him anymore. The ones who are still opposing him are losing support. And quickly."

"Hmm... who knew the way to take control of the demonic world was to completely destroy the mortal one."

But Bianca wasn't done. "It gets worse. The ones who are left to fight him, demons like Barbus... well, their are a few rumors floating around that they're going to make him pay for his new campaign. And they're going to do it, by killing the ones he still cares about."

"You don't mean...?" Myst stared, and Bianca cut her off in a serious tone.

"A whole bunch of demons just pretty much declared that they would band together in an effort to kill Chris, Prue, and Adam."

"Great," Chris snapped sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "That's what I want to hear."

"Actually, things are a bit more complicated than just that," Bianca continued. Myst and Chris sent her incredulous stare, clearly wondering what could possibly be more complicated than the three Halliwells being targets of the rebels of the Underworld. Bianca smiled grimly as she explained, "Wyatt has apparently promised to reward anyone who brings him a traitor. So you're going to have a lot of demons and warlocks tracking you... trying to hang around to capture anyone who wants to hurt you."

Chris blinked, then ventured hesitantly, "So... you're saying I'm going to have demons... protecting me?"

"Yes. Basically, you are a very hot commodity at the moment. And you, Prue, and Adam are going to have all-out demonic wars being fought around you."

"That's... that's..." Chris couldn't even find the words to properly describe the insanity of the situation.

"Someone needs to inform Adam and Prue," Bianca instructed pointedly, giving Myst a sharp look. The blonde nodded slowly, agreeing, and walked away, intent on finding the two cousins. Chris withdrew slightly, noticing that he was now alone with Bianca, and the assassin shifted, appearing incredibly uncomfortable.

"Bianca..."

"Yes?" she asked softly.

"I... thank you. For your help during the past four days. And for getting me away from Wyatt."

She stared at him, her mesmerizing brown eyes refusing to leave his face. She did not answer, but just stared, and Chris averted his gaze. "I'm sorry. For... what I did."

"Okay." He had no idea what else to say, so he lapsed into silence.

"I love you."

He jerked his eyes to her face, startled. "I..."

"Do you love me?"

He could not tear his gaze away from her, no matter how much his brain was silently screaming at him to walk away from the conversation. "Yes," he whispered. "But I don't... I don't trust you."

She seemed to accept this, giving him a thoughtful look and a nod. "So... what happens now?"

He exhaled. "I have no idea."

* * *

"Bianca told me she loves me," Chris announced casually.

Myst looked up at him, eyes widening. They were standing just outside Daryl's house, hidden partially by shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. The day after Bianca's explanation about the new state of the Underworld, Chris had woken terrified for Daryl. Would the rebel demons target him? Would Wyatt offer any kind of protection?

"What did you say in response?" Myst questioned as she moved her gaze back to Daryl's house. They had already been here for a few minutes, studying the building, trying to determine the presence of any demons. So far, it seemed quiet enough. Or, actually, a little too quiet. The lack of people on the street was disturbing, particularly because Daryl lived in a more commercial part of town. But mortals had taken Wyatt's actions seriously, and it seemed no one would venture from their houses anymore.

"That I loved her, but I didn't trust her, and I had no idea what we were supposed to do now."

"Ah..." Myst hid a smile, but Chris caught it anyway and glared at her.

"What's so amusing?"

She shook her head, but answered, "Your lack of commitment. So very... male."

"You _want _me to commit to her?" Chris demanded, still glaring. "What happened to not trusting her? And besides, what do you know about typical male behavior anyway? You're not even a part of this world."

"Just because I spent my entire life on an island completely cut off from the rest of the magical and mortal world does not mean that I don't know how the male mind works," Myst retorted loftily. "Anyway," she added carelessly, turning away from him, "I don't want you to trust her easily. But I also wonder how much of your reluctance is based on not trusting her and how much is based on... well, being..."

"If you say male," Chris warned heatedly, "I'm not letting you back into the safe-house."

"You can't keep me out," Myst countered pointedly. "The spells don't protect the place from Valkeries."

"I can add new spells," Chris threatened, but there was no heat in his voice, and he was smiling. A real smile, something that had not graced his features in days. Myst seemed inordinately pleased with herself, and it didn't take long for Chris to realize that she'd only said those things to get a smile out of him. He shook his head and turned away from her, staring up at the house again.

"What are you going to do?" Myst asked after a while.

Chris exhaled slowly, wishing he had some answer to that question. "I love her. I can't help it. I want to be with her." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the way Myst stiffened ever so slightly at his words. She forced herself to relax, but he still felt a pang of guilt for discussing this with her. It wasn't fair to her.

Bu Myst didn't show any other signs of discomfort as she turned to Chris and said bluntly, "You love Prue too. Trust and love generally go hand-in-hand. But not always."

"Yeah..."

And then the demons appeared.

There were three of them, and Chris was already reacting to their presence before they had fully appeared. He sent two of the them sprawling backwards across the street, and next to him Myst swiftly drew an athame and charged the third demon. She was moving gracefully, twirling through the fight, facing more demons as they shimmered into the street. Chris rushed towards her, and the two of them fought side-by-side.

But it did not take long before Chris realized that some of the demons were not attacking him. They seemed to be determined to protect him, throwing their energy balls and fireballs at other demons instead of the witch-lighter. It appeared that Bianca was right, that these demons were going to have an all-out war, and it was going to happen around him.

In the heat of the battle, he did not see the warlock blink into a spot right beside him until it was too late, and something sharp and painful had sliced through the skin of his stomach. He hissed in pain, and turned to attack his opponent, only to find that the warlock had already been knocked unconscious by another demon. This demon reached down and grabbed the warlock's hair, hissing, "Lord Wyatt will be pleased to punish the one who dared hurt his brother," and then disappearing in a whirl of dark dots.

Chris looked down at the wound on his stomach. It was not deep, and it probably would not have even required healing by a dark-lighter. The pain itself was fading, overridden by the rush of adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

And then everything seemed to slow down, stretching all around him, and he felt sluggish and horrified as his mouth fell open and a scream of horror tore itself from his throat.

Because Myst was falling, her eyes wide with surprise, blood spreading across her chest and pooling at the corners of her mouth. The hilt of an athame protruded from her chest, silver and glinting in the harsh sunlight.

"_No!_"

Bianca and Adam were suddenly there, and the Phoenix was fighting with such a ferocity that many of the demons and warlocks simply left, rather than face her. Time sped up again, moving much to fast, as though it was spinning around Chris and leaving him behind. He flung himself into the fray, fighting with rage and passion, Adam and Bianca flanking him.

And when the last demon was gone, he fell to his knees by Myst's body. She had torn the pendant from her neck and held it out towards him. "For you..." she whispered, the words barely reaching him. "Love... always..."

And then she was gone, her eyes staring unseeingly at the sun far above them.

* * *

I should have known.

Bianca hangs back behind me, and for that I am glad, because although I am sure I will need her support in the coming days, I cannot face her now. Too many deaths of left me feeling alone and bitter, and her betrayal, even though it was not complete, even though she changed her mind and came back, still hurts.

But Adam looks from Bianca, to Myst's body, to me, and there is something in his eyes that frightens me. I cannot tell what it is, or maybe I just don't try hard enough. It is dark and despairing and filled with a sort of resignation that leaves me shaking with unease.

But when he speaks, he knows what he is saying, and his words are filled with firm certainty. "I know how to fix this."

I stare at him, and Bianca breaths, "What?"

Again, he says, "I know how to fix this. I know... how to save our future."

And with Myst's dead body spread at my feet, I say the only thing I can. "Tell me what I need to do."

* * *

Next Chapter: Reckless Abandon

Due: Mon 10/6


	48. Reckless Abandon

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: About three weeks have passed since the last chapter. The beginning explains what happened in those weeks, but there will be no flashbacks.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight: Reckless Abandon

Twenty-one days.

Chris glanced around the Underworld, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The cave was empty, nothing but the flickering light of an abandoned torch to illuminate his path. But he did not need the light, he knew exactly where he was going and how he was going to get there. He could have walked this path blindfolded in need be.

Twenty-one days.

Since Myst had died.

Things changed in twenty-one days. He barely even remembered what the world had been like before his friend's death. Before Wyatt had annihilated the last of the Resistance and forced them all out of their safe-houses. Before Adam had outlined his plan, daring and reckless and so incredibly dangerous, and the only possibly way to save the world.

Twenty-one days.

Since he had finally told Bianca that he trusted her. At the time, it had not been because he actually did trust her, but because he so desperately wanted to believe in something, _anything_. Myst was gone, and the Phoenix loved him, and somehow it made the world just a little bit more bearable, knowing he was not alone.

He had not seen Adam in over a week. He knew the other was alive by the short notes sent to him via magic. Sometimes they're paths crossed, sometimes they didn't. But Adam was no longer needed for the plan to work, not now that Bianca was at his side.

Twenty-one days.

Wyatt had found them, in a strange sort of way. Telepathy. After the Resistance had fallen, Chris had taken shelter in the Underworld, Bianca occasionally shimmering to his side, but mostly doing what he asked and keeping an eye on Adam and Prue, making sure they were safe. He knew she despised the task, but she did it to please him, and so she was not there when Wyatt's voice had suddenly echoed in his head, offering something Chris could barely believe.

A truce.

The Resistance was gone, Wyatt had pointed out, and with probes flying everywhere, prepared to catch any unregistered magical being, how could the three renegade Halliwells possibly hope to avoid detection? But, Wyatt had promised, if they gave up fighting him, he would stop sending demons after them. Stop trying to pull them into his web, fit them into his empire.

Chris had no doubt that Wyatt had some other plan up his sleeve, although he could not fathom what it was. But they also had a plan, and so he had taken Wyatt's deal, because what did it really matter? He did not need to lead an active Resistance against his brother, because very soon they would be able to put their scheme into action, and he would be far beyond Wyatt's reach when that happened.

Twenty-one days.

Wyatt had had insisted that they live above ground, and that they not meet with other Resistance members as an assurance that they would not be working against him. Adam and Chris had both agreed, and that meant Chris had to meet Bianca in secret, in the lairs of the Underworld.

So here he was, slipping through the corridors, searching for the woman who had helped him evade rebels demons who still opposed Wyatt and therefore wanted him dead and mortals who had finally banded together and begun to fight back, fear driving them mad in the desire for revenge against the Twice Blessed. She had become a powerful asset, and one of his most trusted allies in the past few weeks. And he loved her.

Something moved in the darkness, and he spun, reaching out with one hand to snatch at the intruder. A tan hand snapped closed around his wrist seconds before he could make contact with the person, however, and Bianca stepped from the shadows, tossing her hair over her shoulders and dropping his arm. "Good. But not good enough."

He smiled slightly. "You're better than most demons. If it had been an enemy..."

"They would have simply thrown an energy ball at you from a distance instead of trying to get closer," Bianca answered, interrupting him. "And you're going to have enemies, Chris, if this crazy plan of ours succeeds. There is no way you can find the evil that turns Wyatt without aggravating some very powerful people."

"I'm working on it," he muttered sullenly, and she smiled.

"You're getting better," she offered.

"I went to our spot today," Chris said softly, running a hand through his hair in an absentminded gesture. His green eyes darkened for a moment, before he added, "Every time I go, I think he's destroyed it even more. Do you think he knows that it is important to us?"

But Bianca shook her head. The Arboretum, Chris had decided, would be their spot because it was the first place he had confessed his feelings for her, and the first place she had truly doubted that she had the strength to go through with Wyatt's instructions. It had been so important to Chris that they have a place like this, a place that could hold their love, a place he could feel her presence even when she was hiding in the Underworld, unable to come up to the light... and since it had been important to him, it had been important to her.

And she knew that if Wyatt knew it was important to Chris, he would not have touched it. Wyatt might be a lot of evil things, but he still loved his brother.

And the fact that he could have those emotions terrified her, because it just didn't make sense.

Nothing about the Halliwells made sense.

It had been twenty-one days since Myst had died, and she'd counted every passing day with a growing uncertainty and unease. Until all the details of their plan could be worked out, they had to stay alive, stay afloat, stay under the radar. And that was much easier said than done. Every minute of every day, she was expecting to discover that Chris had been captured again, or that her perpetual guarding was not enough to protect Prue and Adam. Every single second she was expecting to be her last.

And then Chris touched her cheek and whispered, "I missed you," and everything else but his piercing green eyes had faded from her mind.

* * *

Chris would never know that his first thought as he laid eyes on the Angel of Destiny was exactly the same as what Adam had thought when he, too, had summoned the same magical being. She was not what he had expected.

Destiny, however, was not particularly pleased to have been summoned again, and she folded her arms over her chest and glared at Chris. "What exactly is it about Halliwells that make you all so incredibly certain that the entire magical world will just drop everything and answer your every beck and call?"

"You're wearing _jeans_?" Chris managed to gasp, shaking his head in confusion. "You're an angel! Shouldn't you have long white flowing robes?"

"Would you like me to spout wings and find myself a halo as well?" Destiny retorted, rolling her eyes. "Of course, if I am going to give in to the stereotypes, then I insist that you ride a broomstick and cackle. And possibly turn green and have a few warts. After all, it isn't fair for only one of us to have to conform."

Chris opened and closed his mouth once or twice, unable to find the appropriate words. Finally, he asked, "But you... you're really the Angel of Destiny, right?"

"I'm one of them," Destiny answered with a shrug. "There are many destinies, child, and many angels. But I am the one that pertains to you and your family, so..." She trailed off with a bitter smile, then drawled, "I got assigned the Halliwells. And everyone thought I was so _lucky_."

"I'm sorry to cause such an inconvenience for you," Chris snapped in reply, his tone sarcastic. "Is there a better time for us to meet?"

"Ah... and that is the crux of the matter, isn't it? _Time_?"

Chris narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"What do you think it means?" Destiny replied. She turned away from him and began to pace over the uneven ground of the secluded grove. To her right, the ocean spread out, golden sand meeting deep blue waters. To her left, trees dotted the landscape. It would have been a beautiful place, had it not been filled with the remnants of Wyatt's destructive powers. Burnt trees and broken rocks, all memories of battles fought here.

"And will I succeed?" Chris asked, following after her. "Do I have enough... time?"

She thought about this for a moment, then said, "You know, few people have the courage... or stupidity... to summon the Angel of Destiny and demand answers. Do you really want to know how your life will play out?"

"Destiny only determines where we end up, and not which path we take to get there," Chris retorted. "I can still make my own choices."

"Of course," Destiny agreed with a mocking bow. "But you know, child, not everyone reaches their destiny. You might never make it to that end."

"But can my plan work? Is there a _chance_?" Destiny didn't answer, so Chris pushed on, determined. "Adam says you told him their was a chance. That it could work. That if I went back in time, I could..."

"If your cousin already told you all that, why are you here, wasting my time?" Destiny interrupted smoothly, lips pursed slightly as she looked at him. "I will remind you, Christopher, that regardless of what you, your mother and aunts, or your brother might think, this world does not revolve around the Halliwells, and you do not get to just summon me and demand answers whenever you need some form of reassurance. It is your life, so do us both a favor and go live it, instead of standing here and bothering me with pointless questions."

"Adam isn't telling me something," Chris said, ignoring Destiny's words. "And I want to know what it is."

Destiny licked her lips for a moment, giving him a searching stare. In a contemplative tone, she murmured, "Do you? Really?"

There was something in her eyes that worried Chris, but he could not quite but a name to that emotion. "Why wouldn't I?" he challenged.

"Because people often find they don't like the answers they receive," Destiny answered simply, slanting him a quick look before continuing her walk along the beach. "And besides, somethings cannot be told. They have to be experienced to be truly learned."

"Such as?"

"All of life's lessons, child. Or at least the ones that are actually worth learning."

"You're speaking in riddles," Chris hissed, frustrated.

"Yes," Destiny agreed nonchalantly, "that has been known to happen." And Chris looked into her eyes and could have sworn that she was making fun of him.

"Look, just tell me what I want to know, and I'll be out of your hair."

Destiny stared at him in wonder, her eyes widening slightly. "But... how would you get into my hair in the first place?" she asked, trying and failing to understand what he meant by that phrase.

"I..." Chris blinked. "It's a saying," Chris said finally, shaking his head in disbelief. "Do you really not known normal human sayings?"

"I'm not human," Destiny countered. After a moment of thought, she asked, "But that saying doesn't even make sense. It would be physically impossible for you to climb into my hair. Unless you were very small. Perhaps with a shrinking spell?"

Chris glanced at her again, and couldn't quite tell if she was purposefully pretending not to understand in order to needle him further, or if she truly could not comprehend that particular idiom. Instead of pressing the issue, however, he switched back to the early subject. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll stop annoying you."

Destiny smiled. But almost as soon as the smile had come, it faded. "Changing the timeline is not a simple matter, Christopher," she said seriously. "For all your mother and her sisters might have thought it was just a matter of going back in time and making a few quick adjustments... there are outcomes that cannot be avoided. Death, for instance. There are times when you simply cannot save someone, when it is impossible to change what is meant to be."

"And what does that mean for my mission?"

"Ah... you are calling it your mission now?" the angel asked with a sarcastic smile. "Proposing to be the next James Bond, are you?"

Chris stared at her for a moment, then demanded, "If you aren't human enough to know our common idioms, how do you know about 007?"

Destiny quirked one eyebrow and remarked in a tone which clearly conveyed that the answer should be obvious. "Child, _everyone _knows about James Bond." Chris did not bother replying to the statement, and after a moment, Destiny continued softly, "It means your task will be neither easy nor straightforward. It means there is always a price to pay."

"What price?"

"Your brother took a path other than what was originally intended for him," Destiny explained, "and in doing so, he sent the entire Halliwell family spiraling into a different future. There are some things you can change about that, and some you cannot. But be wary, child, because if you succeed in changing your brother, you will be changing much more of this family than just him."

"What price?" Chris repeated, because her answer had not been satisfactory, because he could tell that there were many things she was not saying, many things she would probably never reveal to him. Still... this was his family at stake here, and he was not going to leave without more answers.

Destiny sighed. "Impatient and foolish. So like your mother and aunts, and look what happened to them." Chris lunged at her, but she merely side-stepped his movements with a quickness he did not know she could possess, a quickness beyond anything he had ever seen, and he went flying onto the sand. She continued as though none of that had happened,

"You might be able to change their destinies, but some others are written in stone. And not everyone gets a happy ending."

"Who? Who isn't going to be happy?" Chris demanded, lifting himself from the ground and trying to regain some form of dignity.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes staring directly into his, and he noticed that they were so blue, so much bluer than even Wyatt's. That realization was startling, as was the sudden rush of fury and loss he felt as his mind silently formed his brother's name.

"You," she said finally. "And others, of course."

Chris froze. "Why am I not going to be happy? Why don't I get a happy ending?"

"Because people have to be sacrificed," Destiny answered simply. "You cannot change the future, change destiny and fate, without giving something in return. Some lives will be irrevocably changed, for better or for worse is yet to be seen. Others will stay the same, meeting the same end in either time, because, as I said, you cannot change everything, and you cannot save those who Death claims. And, of course, there are those who will pay the ultimate sacrifice, giving their lives. And in more ways than one."

Chris forced himself to remain calm as he tried to reason through what she had said, to find the meaning in the complicated and confusing words. "Say it in plain English," he said finally. "What does this mean for me?"

"For you?" the angel echoed, "or for everyone else?"

Chris threw his hands into the air, anger flashing in his eyes. "I don't care. Just tell me something!"

"I just told you quite a few somethings, Christopher," Destiny admonished, "but you have refused to listen." Chris glared at her, and she said finally, "Do you want a simple, straightforward answer about your destiny? Fine, I will give it to you. But do not say I did not warn you, and do not blame me if you do not like what you hear."

"Just tell me," Chris spat through clenched teeth.

"As you wish," Destiny answered, but her eyes grew soft and her expression sorrowful. "If you manage to change the future, you still will not live to see this new world you create."

"_What_?"

"Oh, certainly another Christopher Halliwell, a different Christopher Halliwell, may have that opportunity. And he may even retain bits of you within him, that is yet to be determined. But you yourself will never see this new world."

"But... why?"

"Because that is the price you pay," Destiny replied. "Once you save Wyatt, the future version of your brother, the Overlord version, will be gone. As will everything he has created in this future. Which means that this future will all but cease to exist. The only part of it that is left will be you. And so, you see, if you were to return to the future, you would be taking a part of that old future will you, and that would complicate matters far too much. You see, the new future you want to create is so drastically different from this one, and so all of this future must be gone for the other to take its place. Including you."

"No. I refuse to believe that."

"Stubbornness. One of the more dominant Halliwell traits." Destiny shook her head slowly and looked away from the witch-lighter. "Once you save Wyatt, you will not be able to return to the future. But you cannot stay in the past. I do not know what Death will do with you, but be assured it is Death that will make that final decision. That is the price you must pay. There are others who will pay less, and some who have already paid more. But everyone pays some price for what you are trying to accomplish, and you cannot avoid yours."

"No!" Chris insisted vehemently, his eyes darkening with passion and ire. "I will come back to the future I have saved. I will live to see it, I promise you that!" And without another word, he orbed away.

The Angel of Destiny stared at the spot Chris had stood for a moment, then slowly shook her head. "I have no doubt that you will certainly try to return to the future," she murmured heavily, "but like your cousin Adam, you will eventually learn that Destiny always has its way."

* * *

Prue watched the fire burn around her, out of control. She had summoned it to fight off yet another demon, but several more had come, and somehow in the midst of the battle she had lost control of it completely, and it now surrounded her, closing in on all sides. She stared at it, unafraid, too numb to fully recognize the danger. She had not felt much of anything lately, besides an overwhelming cold that slid through her body, freezing everything into ice. Since Ria's death and Chris' hate-filled accusations...

Everything was just... numb.

The hand caught her, and she felt her body fading before she had fully registered what had happened. When she reappeared in some other deserted part of town, everything lurched in front of her, and she nearly stumbled. But the hand held her tightly, and she had to wrench herself free to get away from Bianca's grasp.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eying the Phoenix.

"Watching out for you," Bianca answered distastefully. "Again."

"Why bother?" Prue muttered, turning away.

"Because, in case you haven't noticed, there are actually quite a few demons and warlocks that want you dead," Bianca shot back sarcastically. "And Chris said..."

"Chris," Prue laughed, her words bitter, "does not care what happens to me. He asked you to keep an eye on Adam, because he still loves _that _cousin. But the only reason he asked you to keep an eye on me is because somehow he thinks it will ease any guilt he might feel about never speaking to me again."

"Well, you did betray him," Bianca snapped.

Prue looked at her sharply, then said, "And has Chris ever told you about the time he betrayed us? About how when Wyatt first exposed magic to mortals and sent this world to hell, Chris sided with him? Did he tell you that he knew Wyatt was organizing the Underworld, knew he was setting himself up to be the next Source, and he just went along with the plan? And to hell with all of us being attacked and hunted and cast out of the world we called home!"

Bianca's eyes narrowed, but other than that, she did not show any anger. Her voice was flat an unemotional, a sign that she was struggling to keep her disgust and fury under control. "Yes, he did, Prue. He told me how he initially sided with his brother because he did not realize just how far Wyatt was willing to go. Because at that time, Wyatt was still just his older brother, and not yet the evil tyrant he is now. But you...? You _knew _what Wyatt was, you _knew _who he had become. And you gave him Chris anyway. At least Chris never did the same to you."

"No," Prue sneered, "but _you _did."

Bianca reacted without thinking, something she would regret later on. But in that moment, all her frustration at Prue and anger at the entire world combined into a furious wrath, and before she could stop herself, she reached out and slapped the other girl across the face. "You _betrayed _him," she snarled, emphasizing the word, wanting to give Prue no chance to argue, no way to say she had not done exactly that. "You could have gotten him killed, you almost did!"

Instead, it was Ria who had died, and that truth filled the air between them as Prue stumbled backwards, one hand reaching up to touch her lip. Although she would not admit it aloud, the rage in the Phoenix's eyes scared her. But more than that, it made her livid, and her temper flared.

In that instant, numbness turned to fury.

"You did, too!" she screamed. "You betrayed all of us!"

And as she stared at Bianca, she saw her father falling before her, eyes filled with pain and the realization that he was going to die, and she felt her heart leap into her throat, horror rushing through her body at the memory. Bianca had sold them all out as well, and the rescue mission to save Chris had resulted in Jason's death. And that was not something Prue could ever forgive.

"I was trying to save the world," Prue continued, ignoring the danger she was facing by yelling at an enraged assassin. "But when you sold the Resistance out to Wyatt, you were just trying to gain prestige."

"I never told Wyatt anything that I learned," Bianca countered, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I never..."

But Prue did not let her finish. "You wanted to," she spat. "You came to me on the stairs in that shopping mall pretending to be on my side. You convinced Chris that you could help him, you made him fall in love with you, and all you wanted was to turn him over to Wyatt so that you could…"

Bianca hit Prue again, and the witch fell to the ground.

"Shut up!" Bianca spat. "I screwed up, I _know _that. But I was willing to admit it when I realized that I was wrong, and I came back to you and I asked for forgiveness." She drew a sharp breath, knowing just how much it had galled her pride to have to ask someone, anyone, to forgive her for being wrong. "I did it because I loved him and I cared about all of you."

"Yeah, right," Prue snapped, rising unsteadily to her feet. "Or you just realized that Wyatt wasn't the great Lord you thought he was and so you came crawling back."

Bianca shook her head. She had spent the past three weeks following the two younger Halliwells around the entire city, risking her life time and again to keep them away from the rebel demons, to keep them from following in Myst's footsteps and leaving Chris alone and broken. For the past four weeks, she had infiltrated the ranks of rebel factions and gleaned information from them. And before that, before even returning to the Resistance, before knowing that they would give her a place to stay, to belong, she had effectively severed herself from her own family, from the people who truly mattered to her, from the only identity she had ever had.

And Prue dared to mock her choices?

"I worked as a spy for you all, I saved you life on numerous occasions, and I risked everything to get Chris out of Wyatt's clutches when you sold him out," she said in a voice that was softer, but still furious, still underlined with steel. There was an infinitesimal paused, and then she pressed, "How could you do that to your own cousin?"

"Wyatt wouldn't have hurt him."

Bianca gave an empty laugh. "If you really believe that, then you are as much a fool as you are a traitor," she replied, then shimmered away.

Prue stared at the spot the Phoenix had stood, confusion and pain and doubt and rage and hatred all mixing together in her chest, threatening to eat away at her insides. She felt guilt, but she felt vicious disgust as well, and as she finally turned around and walked away, she whispered to the empty air, "I may have betrayed my family, but I am not the only one guilty of that."

* * *

"Hey? What's wrong?" Chris asked as he caught Bianca seething as she paced back and forth over the abandoned warehouse's stone floor. They had agreed to meet here, and he had hoped for something more romantic than a livid assassin to deal with, but one look at her told him that nothing romantic was happening any time soon.

"Prue. I... we had a... a fight."

Chris frowned, and asked, "What sort of fight? Like an argument, or like a fistfight?"

Bianca ran a hand through her hair, tugging at a few knots, and muttered abashedly, "Sort of... both." Her hair finally fell into place, and she dropped her hand to her side.

"You hit Prue? Or did Prue hit you?"

Bianca looked at Chris for a moment, and the anger slowly drained out of her, to be replaced by worry and something resembling hollow despair. "I hit her," she admitted. "But she... I don't think she's... sane."

Chris narrowed his eyes and asked hurriedly, "You think she's going to go crazy like Wyatt?"

"No," Bianca assured him quickly, knowing that he feared that more than he was willing to admit. "I just... I don't know, Chris. There's just something wrong with her, and I don't know how to fix it. I don't think we can." She looked away, slowly sitting down on the cold cement floor. She rested her back against the wall of the warehouse and added softly, "Wyatt's regime has managed to ruin her as well."

"I still can't believe Prue would do that," Chris said, his mind running automatically to the one choice she made that he could never comprehend. "She sold me out to Wyatt to save her own skin. I mean, she is supposed to be cousin. We're family..."

Bianca, however, felt remorse stirring within her because she had seen in Prue's eyes the truth that she could now no longer ignore, that this had never been about saving her own skin. She was simply trying to do the right thing, and she was not the only one who had made a mistake.

She thought of Jason and sighed.

"Yeah, well... like has a funny way of screwing everything up, doesn't it?" she murmured as Chris began to pace. "I mean, look at us. Who would have thought this where we would end up?

Chris nodded slowly as he looked at her. "I suppose," he said with a slight smile. "I met my most trusted ally because she wanted to kill me."

Bianca grinned and said, "Oh, so I am the most trusted ally now?"

In some ways, she realized, that was saying more about the state of the world than anything else ever had. If Chris' most trusted ally was an assassin running from her past mistakes... How had everything managed to get so far out of control? And would Chris really be able to fix it?

She rose slowly and walked to Chris, her smile faltering. "I'm not saying you should assume every person you work with is out to get you, but you have to be careful." It was a lesson they both had learned the hard way, and it would be even more important once Chris was in the past, away from everyone who knew him and everyone he could rely on for support. "Life has a funny way of sending you friends who look like enemies and enemies who look like friends."

"How do you tell the difference?"

Bianca turned her head to the side and stared at Chris seriously. She thought of Matt's lifeless gaze and Wyatt's cruel smirk and Bree's harsh words and Prue's conflicted and desperate words. She thought of Chris, of Tanya's blood pooling from the wound he had inflicted, of her hatred for what he had taken from their clan. Of the lies she herself had told and all the lies she had ever received, starting with her mother's assertion that a Phoenix felt nothing when she killed.

After a moment, she allowed a small, bittersweet smile to play across her features.

"You don't. That's what makes life so much _fun_."

* * *

Next Chapter: Down the Rabbit Hole

Due: Sun 10/12


	49. Down the Rabbit Hole

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Sorry for the delay. I had Internet and computer problems, so even though I'd had this written for a while, I hadn't been able to post it until now. Also, anything you recognize is taken from the episode _Chris-Crossed_.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight: Down the Rabbit Hole...

"Will you marry me?"

Bianca shook her head slowly, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared at the small ring being slipped onto her finger. "You're asking me now?" she whispered, staring hard into his jade green eyes. Now, right before he was about to disappear on a mission that could very well take his life.

"Uh huh," he answered, and she almost laughed at his lack of eloquence.

"Here?"

"This is still our spot, Bianca," Chris replied firmly, glancing around the destroyed garden, the cracked bench, the broken angel. "No matter what he's done to it." He looked back at her, truth and love and determination shinning in his eyes. "Marry me."

"On one condition," Bianca answered. "That you come back to me. _Safely_."

"Have I ever let you down before?" Chris asked with a grin, daring her to answer in the positive. She didn't say anything, but leaned in to kiss him. A moment later, however, her elite senses picked up on a something, and the romance of the moment was ruined as she pulled backwards, listening carefully.

"What's that?" Her question was answered by the appearance of a probe, that quickly scanned her features. Fear jumped into her eyes as she knew exactly what would happen next, and the single word tumbled from her lips, "Chris!"

He reacted quickly, telekinetically shoving the probe into a wall opposite them. It smashed into pieces, sparks flying into the air, and he turned back to the Phoenix, worry clouding his eyes. "Are you okay?"

She breathed slowly, steadying her rapidly beating heart. "Yeah... yeah, I don't think it had time to transmit." Because if it had, chances were that Wyatt's demons would already be there, ready to capture the two traitors.

"I can not believe he is sending probes after us now," Chris hissed, jumping to his feet in a sign of rage and frustration. "I am going to kill that son of a bitch!"

"No," Bianca said quickly, in part because she knew Chris could never actually manage to do that, and in part because she knew any deviation from the plan would ruin everything for both of them, and possibly the entire world as well. If they could just get Chris to the past, and out of Wyatt's reach... She rose to her feet, her own expression matching his determination. "You're going to stick to the plan."

"But he knows," Chris protested.

"No," Bianca murmured, "if he knew, he wouldn't have sent the probe." There was nothing to say to that, and both were lost in thoughts of exactly what Wyatt would be willing to do if he knew what Chris was about to attempt. "You have to go back, Chris," Bianca continued, fighting back the tears. "It's the only way to stop him. It's the only way to change all this."

* * *

"I came to say goodbye."

Daryl looked up as Chris entered the room. He had expected this visit for a while, but he was still surprised when it actually happened. But now that the Resistance was officially gone and Chris was living his life in the open, he did have a little more freedom to visit those he wanted. Provided, of course, that Wyatt agreed to it...

"Goodbye?" Daryl echoed questioningly, although he knew exactly what Chris meant. "Then you're going to past? Now?"

Chris nodded, blinking back a few tears. "That's the plan."

"I see..." Daryl trailed off. There really wasn't anything else to say, but try as he might, he could not force the well wishes from his lips. In fact, all he wanted to do was beg Chris to reconsider, to think over the possibilities, to come up with something that did not involve throwing himself into harm's way on a hare-brained scheme that amounted to little more than a wild-goose chase.

"You don't think it is possible to save him?" Chris asked softly as he began pacing the room in agitation, knowing by the concerned look in Daryl's eyes that the older man did not like what Chris was about to do. But to think that Wyatt was fated to end up so twisted, so... _wrong_... Chris simply could not accept it. "That this is just Wyatt's destiny? To be evil?"

Daryl shook his head slowly. "I don't know what I think anymore, Chris," he admitted. Then he rose to his feet and walked across to Chris, placing both hands on his shoulders and meeting Chris' gaze with his own steady look. "But I understand why you have to do this."

Chris swallowed back the lump that formed in his throat at the older man's simple understanding and replied, "Thanks. I will fix this. I promise you, one way or another, I will fix this future."

Daryl patted Chris on the shoulder again and turned away. He had long ago resigned himself to having to deal with incredibly stubborn Halliwells. And never had it bothered him more than it did at that moment when he was forced to acknowledge the fact that he would soon be completely unable to provide any protection or support for Chris at all.

"Stay safe, Chris. Come back to us."

"Always," Chris promised.

* * *

"Uncle Leo trusted you."

Chris looked up sharply as Prue stepped out of the shadows. Instinctively, he looked around the street, almost expecting Wyatt to be there as well. But she was alone, and if she noticed his nervousness, she did not comment on it.

"I just thought you should know that."

"That my Dad trusted me?" Chris repeated, a little confused. "I... I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Prue. And how did you even know I would be here?"

"I know you're leaving today," Prue replied, "and I knew you'd be visiting Daryl. So... this seemed like a good place to wait for you." She gestured with one hand behind her towards Daryl's home. "Figured I couldn't really miss you as long as I stood here and waited."

"You could have just called for me," Chris pointed out reasonably.

But Prue countered softly, "I wasn't sure you'd come."

Chris winced at her reply, but he couldn't blame her for feeling that way. And he couldn't honestly say whether or not he would have responded to her calls, particularly if it was clear that she wasn't in any type of imminent danger. "So... what did you mean about my Dad?"

"You're still mad that he wasn't so willing of having you in the Resistance at the very beginning," Prue answered. She didn't say anything else, but Chris remembered all too well the anger that had simmered in her expression when he returned to them, to Valhalla. She had been angry because...

Because he had chosen Wyatt over them, believed Wyatt's lies and twisted truths instead of listening to the rest of the family, and he had not been there with them when they had to suffer exposure and persecution.

"If this is just a way to remind me that I made a mistake once..." Chris started, but Prue interrupted.

"Uncle Leo did trust you. It was Freya who didn't want you to join the Resistance, Freya who didn't want you to be on Valhalla. She's the one who discussed the idea of locking you away somewhere, not Uncle Leo." She paused, waiting until she was sure she had Chris' full attention, and then said, "It was all the Valkeries, Chris. They were the ones who didn't trust you in the beginning."

"But... when I confronted Dad..."

"I don't know why he lied to you, I never asked him. But I think he saw how important it was to you to have Freya's respect, and he didn't want to take that away from you," Prue admitted.

It was strange logic, of course, because it meant that Leo was the one Chris would hate, Leo was the one Chris would think did not really care about him. But, if Chris was truly honest with himself, he knew that the relationship between father and son had already dissolved so much, that at that point it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway.

"But... I heard him and my Dad and Freya talking about it more than once. And... it was always Uncle Leo that defended you. He was the one who wanted to get you away from Wyatt, wanted to protect you." Prue crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the building wall, half-hidden by shadows. The heat of the midday sun shown down on them, but neither noticed or really minded.

"He's the one who locked me in that cage, though," Chris retorted after a moment of contemplation, burning red at the memory.

"To keep you from going after Bianca. He thought you'd try to get revenge, and maybe lose yourself in the pursuit." Prue shrugged. "I'm not saying anything he did was right or justified, but... Uncle Leo loved you. And he only ever tried to keep you safe."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Again, Prue shrugged. "Because I thought you deserved the truth. Mostly all we get nowadays are lies, but this... this is the one thing I can give you that I know is a hundred percent true."

They locked gazes. He doubted her words would ever be able to ease the pain he felt when he thought of his father. Too much had happened to make anything right again, but perhaps Leo was part of the future he wanted to change. Maybe if the world was better and brighter, things could have been different between them. But he also knew Prue was right, Leo did love him. And that counted for something. He just wasn't sure if it was enough anymore.

Love didn't seem to matter as much in this future as it had in his past.

But the truth about Leo was not the only thing he saw in Prue's eyes, and the emptiness, the pain, the grief, the helpless frustration left him uneasy. He had no idea how she had managed to change from the carefree child into this grief-ridden and bitter adult, but he did not like what he saw in her expression. And he cursed himself for somehow missing the change, for not seeing that his cousin was floundering, was in desperate need of help. And he knew the look in those brown eyes would haunt him every night in the past. He knew he would never be able to forget all the people he could not save... Prue most of all.

She smiled faintly, and then turned and walked away, and Chris stared after her, his mouth hanging open, wanting to call her back and say something, anything at all.

But she was already long gone before he managed to form the words, "I'll miss you." And so he uttered them to the empty street, praying that when he fixed the future, he'd somehow fix Prue as well.

* * *

Chris shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching as Adam approached from the other side of the ruined playground. They had agreed to meet in the open, some place where they could both be easily found by Wyatt, but that would also allow for a quick escape if possible. And both of them, having taken the precaution of almost always blocking themselves from the Twice Blessed, hoped that this would be enough.

They only had a few minutes to talk before they knew they needed to separate once again, to avoid being spotted and captured. It was risky, and Chris was surprised that Prue had sought him out at all, because it had put her in so much more danger from Wyatt.

But it had obviously been important to her. And this was important to Chris. And to Adam. And few minutes was enough, because they only had a few things to say anyway.

"Hey," Adam greeted, pausing before Chris. "So… this is where we say goodbye?"

"Yeah." Chris sighed. "Take care of yourself. And Daryl. And… Prue."

"I will," Adam vowed, and if he wondered at Chris' inclusion of their cousin, he did not ask. "And you be careful too. Take care of yourself. And stay safe."

"Adam, I…" Chris stopped, shook his head. He had never been good at words, at expressing sentiment through any form of verbal conversation. There was so much he wanted to impart, but he just couldn't figure out how to say it all, and he lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

Adam smiled. "It's okay, Chris," he said. "I know what you're trying to say. I… I want to say the same thing, too. To you."

All the phrases - _be careful_ and _I love you_ and _watch out for yourself_ – floated in the air between the two, in the silence they could not break. And the others – the _thank you_ or _I'll miss you_ or _I have faith in you_.

Adam reached out and rested a hand on Chris' arm. "Chris… no matter what happens in the past, remember that you are making a better world. It might… you might want to give up. There could come a time when you think… that maybe it isn't worth it anymore. But it is. You have to trust me. It is."

Chris frowned, wanting to ask what Adam meant and why he was speaking like this. But the words never came, and he found himself just nodding, because really, he needed to believe that it was worth it anyway, so why question Adam?

"Thank you," he said at last.

And then there was nothing left to say. It was nearly time to leave.

* * *

"Welcome to the Halliwell Memorial Museum," the tour guide said in her chipper voice, and it was all Chris could do to keep Bianca from running her through with an athame just to make the inhumanly cheerful woman stop talking. He grinned at Bianca, barely paying attention to the words that floated past them, "A tribute to magic and of course, the Charmed Ones. Please Remember there is no digi-capturing, no holographing, and most certainly no magic allowed while inside the museum. That's a big one."

A probe floated by, a giant metallic bug that meant little to mortals but still managed to inspire so much fear in witches.

"Don't mind the probes, folks, they're merely scanning for witches," the tour guide explained, and ripple of excitement ran through the crowd. "Now, as we pass through the foyer, note the family portraits hanging on the walls."

As the rest of the guests wandered forward, eyes fixed on the pictures decorating the walls, Chris subtly waved a hand at the probes, sending them careening off in another direction.

"Nicely done," Bianca praised in a whisper.

"Around here," the tour guide announced, "you'll notice just a few of the many mythological creatures the legendary sisters transformed into in their demon fighting hay-day." They were, of course, all skimpy and revealing, and this time it was Bianca who sent the warning look at Chris, letting him know that he needed to keep himself from yanking them off the mannequins and burning them all right then and there. "Actually," the tour guide said, and Chris wondered how she did not notice the silent battle of wills being played out right in front of her, "the Charmed Ones were responsible for well over a thousand demon vanquishes before they were finally vanquished themselves."

Vanquished was such a clean word. It said nothing of the blood that seeped from their broken bodies or the horror that filled their surviving kids as one by one each adult was stripped away from this world. Vanquished did not even mention the fighting, the screams, the fact that these were not just vanquishes of evil but true murders that ripped a family apart.

The tour guide would mention none of this. After all, it was not what Wyatt wanted the world to hear.

"Now," the tour guide said in a hushed voice, "the time is twenty-five years ago. Imagine yourselves standing here on this floor when the Charmed Ones were reborn."

The appearance of the holograph caught the attention of everyone accept Chris, who looked away, not wanting to watch this scene. Not wanting to see his mother - long before she was actually Mom - appear so bright and colorful and vivid... and alive.

"Okay... what was that?" holograph-Paige asked worriedly as a bright light filled the space above her.

Holograph-Leo answered in his trademark white-lighter voice, "I think that means you're supposed to be here."

Holograph-Shax appeared, a whirlwind of noise and destruction, and the audience gasped or cried out in shock, horrified.

"Scares them every time," the tour guide said smiling. "Okay, let's head over to the kitchen where many of the sisters' classic potions were brewed. Some of which are available for purchase in the gift shop on the way out."

Chris swallowed back the anger and shook his head slowly. If only his mother where here... he could just imagine what she would say if she discovered that her potions were being sold as souvenirs.

It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Of course, the attic was the preferred spot for potion making, principally because that's where they kept the famed Book of Shadows. Which is where we're headed next. A little background on the Manor, itself, it was actually..."

As the tour guide and the rest of the crowd wandered off towards the attic, Chris and Bianca waited behind, pretending to stare at the display on the table. Behind them, Bianca heard the sudden telltale ripple of air as a demon guard shimmered into the room. It would not take much for them to be recognized and brought to Wyatt, but if they could just keep their backs turned long enough...

"Hey, you two, move along."

"Wait for it," Bianca whispered in a low voice, an athame appearing in her hand.

"Are you deaf?" the guard demanded, and by the volume of his voice and the sound of his footsteps on the ground, she could hear just how close he was. "I said..."

But the rest of his statement was lost as Bianca spun around and plunged the athame into his stomach, vanquishing him instantly. She narrowed her eyes, watching as he went up in flames, and did not see the look of concern that momentarily marred Chris' gaze. Striding to the door of the basement, she yanked it open and turned back to Chris. "Come on."

He followed her down the steps, watching as the athame disappeared from her hand, watching as she gave the room a quick and calculating stare. Everything about her, from the tension in her stance to the coldness in her gaze, were reminders of who she was, what she had done, and what she was capable of doing.

"We should be safe here until the museum closes," Bianca said at last, turning back towards Chris. "Then we'll get the book." But she could tell by the look on Chris' eyes that there was something troubling running through his mind. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Bianca clearly was not buying that response, and he looked down at his hands, trying to figure out a decent reply. He didn't want to bring up her painful past, but since that was exactly what was bothering him at the moment... "It's just sometimes I forget who you really are."

Bianca reached out towards him. "Hey, you mean who I used to be, Chris. Before I met you." She was smiling, a reassuring smile that told him everything would be alright, and yet...

In her eyes, he could see all her other thoughts as well. That before she met him, she might have been an assassin with no cares other than her own family, but at least she had been part of a family then. At least she had not betrayed them, picking the opposite side in this war. And even more than that... He could see the truth that she had never once forgotten exactly who _he _was and where _he _came from.

But he loved her, and she loved him, and sometimes it felt like that was really the only thing that actually mattered.

"So what do we do now?"

She smiled seductively. "We say goodbye."

* * *

"What do I tell them?" Chris asked worriedly as he pushed open the door to the attic and glanced across the room at the darkening sky just beyond the window. The anxiety was already starting to build, and although he tried to keep it at bay, he doubted he would be able to completely ignore or conceal the panic growing within.

"Don't tell them anything," Bianca answered, scanning the attic and finding it thankfully empty. "Just stick to your cover story. The less they know about the future, the better."

That did little to appease the worried witch-lighter, and he pointed out the flaw in her plan. "But what if they find out who I really am?" He wasn't sure that it would be so bad to be seen as just a stranger from the future, but to have them actually know he was their son... to have to face the pain of seeing his mother alive...

"They won't," Bianca argued, "not as long as you can pass yourself off as their white-lighter." It would be far easier said than actually done, particularly with the suspicion anything he did was sure to garner from the sisters and Leo, but it was his only chance. And they both knew the importance of that.

"And you're sure I won't lose my powers when I go back?"

She shook her head in exasperation and almost asked if he was trying to poke holes in their plan for fun. They'd been over this before, but she knew he was scared, and she knew she was terrified, so she answered, "Not with this spell, that's why we need it. Look, just remember, protect baby Wyatt and you protect the Charmed Ones. Keep them alive for our future." Because if they were alive, and if Wyatt wasn't evil...

The world would be such a better place.

"Great," Chris said, his trademark sarcasm finally peeking through, "no pressure there."

She nearly laughed, but settled just to reach out and take his hand. "Chris, you now you're the only one who can do this. You're the only one who can save us." And there was nothing she wouldn't give to ease that weight from his already exhausted shoulders, to somehow keep the burden from falling on him and him alone.

"If I make it back," Chis murmured.

"Baby, you have to make it back. If you want to marry me." She had to stand up on her toes to reach his lips, but as she brushed her kiss against him, she felt his hands wrapped around her waste and pull her closer.

"You really know how to motivate a guy, you know that?" Chris teased as he drew away from her.

This time she really did laugh, a small chuckle escaping before she could think to stop it. Chris grinned, and she pulled him over towards the hologram of the Book. Running her hand through the air, she watched it ripple over her fingers before the image reformed once again, undisturbed.

"You sure you can summon the real Book?"

"Yes."

"Away from _him_?"

"Yes," Chris said again, more emphatically. He was a Halliwell, after all, and it was as much his birthright, his family heirloom, as it was Wyatt's. "But we won't have much time once it gets here. His demons will be all over us."

Bianca nodded slowly. Demons she would need to fight, or be captured by. She had no idea which would happen, and she knew Chris worried about it as well. But she couldn't let her concern for her own life or safety compromise the mission. Chris was the priority, and for that... "I won't need much time," she said at last, "just long enough to send you back to them."

She turned and walked over to the wall. With a piece of white chalk, she began to draw the triqueta on the wall, her hand moving quickly over the wooden boards. They did not have much time, especially if Wyatt was paying any attention at all to his museum, or if he was trying to locate Chris.

As if to reiterate her thoughts, Chris muttered, "Hurry. Before he finds us."

She drew faster.

And then, so quickly that she barely even realized it, she was done. She tossed the chalk to the side and turned to Chris. "It's time," she said heavily, because now that she was done drawing, there was no reason to delay.

Except that neither wanted Chris to leave.

"I don't want to go," he said fervently. "I don't want to leave you." It wasn't just Bianca, of course. There was Adam and Prue and Daryl as well. But she was the one standing beside him, she was the one he would have to physically watch fade away as the portal closed and he cut himself off from everything he had ever cared about. And in that moment, he was not sure if he had the strength to do it.

But Bianca would give him the strength he needed.

"Here..." She slipped off her engagement ring and pushed it into his hand. Closing his fingers around it, she said softly, "This will remind you of why we're doing this. What's waiting for you here." And then she wrapped her arms tightly around him, as though somehow the contact might keep them closer, keep them forever in the other's hearts even as the great expanse of time separated them.

"Just make sure to take care of the guards, okay?" Chris murmured. "And then get out of here. Because if he finds you, if he knows you betrayed him, he will kill you." His tone was serious and filled with concern for her wellbeing, but underneath it all, she could hear the pain and grief he felt at being forced to admit aloud what he wanted so desperately not to believe... that Wyatt would kill. In the name of revenge, as punishment... Wyatt would _murder_.

"Don't worry," Bianca replied, "I can take care of myself." Except, of course, that she couldn't. Not against Wyatt.

They moved to the hologram of the Book again, and this time Chris stood in front of the podium and pulled out the sheet of paper on which he had written the spell. He unfolded it carefully, smoothing the creases and staring at the words. Once he did this, once he cast this spell... he would have crossed the line. And there would be no going back.

"I call upon the ancient power,  
To help us in this darkest hour.  
Let the Book return to this place,  
Claim refuge in its rightful space."

A tense moment of waiting...

"It worked," Chris murmured as the Book fell from the air above and landed heavily on the podium.

"The spell! Find the spell," Bianca ordered tersely as Chris flipped through the Book. She rested her hands on the outer edges of the artifact, feeling its magic and power beneath her fingers.

And then Chris stopped, having found the spell in question. He looked up at Bianca, their eyes meeting for just a second, and then he began to read.

"Hear these words, hear the rhyme,  
Heed the hope within my mind.  
Send me back to where I'll find,  
What I seek in space and time."

The air grew heavy with the charge of magic, and the triqueta began to glow an eerie blue. The glow gave way to a portal, a hole in the attic wall comprised of energy and power and magic that would take Chris back to the past. To their only chance of saving Wyatt... of saving the future.

Chris walked forward, then turned to look at Bianca. She was staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted, expression filled with the grief and sorrow of goodbye, when the air behind her was suddenly ruffled by the appearance of a demonic guard, and Chris cried out a warning, "Bianca!"

He did not need to worry, however, as she reacted instantly and the demon was clearly at the losing end of the fight. She spun to face him even as she brutally kicked the guard in the stomach and it doubled over in pain.

"Go!" she yelled at him. "Go!"

The demon pulled her down to the floor, and she fought back, but Chris had turned away and walked through the portal, leaving that world behind.

* * *

Next Chapter: ... And Through the Looking Glass

Due: Mon 10/27


	50. And Through the Looking Glass

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: After this, there will be one more chapter, a short epilogue that takes place during Season Six. So, for the most part, this concludes _Shadows at Noon_. It is a pretty bittersweet ending, but hey... it was a pretty bittersweet story.

Also, for some reason, the site isn't letting me reply to reviews at the moment. So... I'll try it again later today, but probably won't be able to reply to the reviews for these chapters. Thank you, then, to all who reviewed.

* * *

Chapter Fifty: ... and Through the Looking Glass

Bianca knew he was coming before he had actually appeared, and so she was not surprised when Wyatt was suddenly standing in front of her, wearing an expression of rage and fury. She showed no fear as she faced him, but that did not stop the terror from wrapping around her chest and nearly suffocating her.

Wyatt glanced at the Book, and then at the triqueta on the wall, and then back at her. "What did you do?"

She shrugged casually, trying her best to look nonchalant. As long as he did not know the specifics of the spell they had cast, as long as he did not know the way in which Chris had been involved, there was still a chance she could keep her love safe. And she was a Phoenix. Phoenixes did not fail.

He stepped towards her, but as he came closer, something seemed to change, and she realized she was no longer staring at him, but at something else. Another image that overlapped his, something older and filled with love and compassion. It was like seeing two versions of Wyatt, and even as the image shifted and then faded from sight, she clung to the realization of what she had just seen.

A different Wyatt.

A different world.

"You can't win," Bianca murmured, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"It's not over yet, Bianca," Wyatt warned, but she was no longer looking at him. Her gaze went past him, staring at something he couldn't see, something he knew he would never be able to understand.

She just smiled at him.

"What have you done with Chris?" Wyatt demanded, enraged. "What did you do with him?"

"Nothing he wasn't willing to do himself," Bianca retorted. It occurred to her, after a moment, that all the other demons had left, sent away by their Twice Blessed lord. It was just her standing there, alone with Wyatt, in a place that had once been his home. She looked back at the triqueta, at the place Chris had been standing before... "He's gone."

"I will _not _lose my brother!" Wyatt snarled.

Bianca shook her head. "You already did, Wyatt. A long time ago."

Again, she was seeing something else. It was Wyatt, and yet not Wyatt.

She did not have the power of premonition, of visions. She was not a Seer, or an Oracle, or a soothe-sayer. She could not see the future or the past. But she when she looked at Wyatt, she knew she was not seeing any of those things anyway. She was seeing the present.

A different present. A different time.

And it might have been her imagination laying those images over Wyatt's outline. It might have been her mind playing tricks on her, trying to compensate for everything she had lost because of this war and this crazy scheme. But for the first time in a very, very long time, she felt hope.

* * *

"What do you want, Adam?" Prue asked, looking up wearily as the boy orbed into the park next to her. It was night, and the moon just barely illuminated the area around her. She was sitting on a bench, staring across at a grave of partially-burnt trees, a place they had once played in as children.

"I... I get it," Adam said softly.

"Get what?" she asked, bored. Whenever the two crossed paths, Adam looked at her with fury or disdain or downright contempt, and she could never quite bring herself to initiate any conversation. So the silence had remained between the two, and now he wanted to talk to her? That was unusual.

"Why you did it. Why you betrayed Chris." Adam paused, as though waiting for Prue to say something, but she didn't bother responding. She doubted Adam really understood her motivations, and she had long since given up trying to explain herself to them. They had not been the ones trapped by Wyatt, forced to choose between two wrong choices.

Adam, sensing that she wasn't going to talk, faltered. He wasn't sure how to explain what he was trying to say, but he knew he needed to say it. He had no idea how long it would be until their timeline was altered, and he wanted Prue to understand this before it was too late.

"Look... I don't agree with what you did. Obviously. And I never will. But... I understand..." Again, he hesitated, then, thinking of Destiny and Ria and everything he had been willing to sacrifice for his sister, and everything he was now sacrificing for the world, "I understand what would cause a person to do that. I get... I get why someone might make the choice..."

He knew, better than anyone could ever guess, just what it felt like to be trapped between two completely unacceptable outcomes. But in his case, Destiny had taken away Ria, making the choice easier for him. No one had ever helped Prue.

He did not agree with what she had done, but...

"I forgive you."

She looked at him, eyes narrowing, something dark and angry in her expression. "I never asked for your forgiveness."

"No... but someday, you're going to want it." Not in this world, not in this time, but someday... in a different timeline... when Adam would no longer be there to offer it, she would want his forgiveness. He knew that, because he knew Prue, and he knew that it was her life, her destiny, her soul that Chris was trying to save, just as much as it was Wyatt's.

"Am I?" she murmured, shaking her head, looking up at the moon.

"And I am telling you now that you have it," Adam continued as though she had not even spoken.

Something in his voice caught Prue's attention, and she looked at him, worried. He was no longer even really talking about her deal with Wyatt. Now he was speaking about something else, thinking about something else. Something she didn't understand. It was as though his mind had gone somewhere far away, to some place that she could not follow.

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't want the world to end without... resolving this. I don't want to... I don't want the future to change without you knowing that..."

His answer did not ease her apprehension, and she reached out to catch his hand, holding it tightly so that he was forced to turn and look at her, to meet her scrutinizing stare. And even in the dim moonlight, she could see that there was something wrong, something he would never tell her, but something that was tearing him apart inside.

"Adam, you're starting to scare me," she said, her voice laced with concern.

And Adam felt all the anger, all the blame, all the disgust, all the contempt, all the negative feelings he had ever felt for Prue fade at that simple comment. Because in those few words, and in the look in her eyes and the tone of her voice, he could see just how much she still loved him.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "I'm scaring myself, too."

"Adam?"

"Just... remember," he pleaded. "Remember that I forgive you. Please."

And because it was what he needed to hear, she nodded slowly, and said, "Okay."

* * *

_Twenty-three years earlier..._

Chris watched patiently as the Valkeries came running towards him. It had only taken them a few moments to respond to his arrival, the intruder alarm ringing throughout the island. They surrounded him, eyes cold and questioning, stances ready for a fight.

And then Freya walked forward, and to his horror, he found himself struggling to keep from bursting into tears at the sight of her. Even harder to take was Myst, who lingered just a few steps behind her leader. They were both so alive, so untouched by the horror of a war that would strip everything good away from the world, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to fling his arms around them and never let go.

But he couldn't.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Freya demanded.

Chris held out the Myst's pendant, letting the green stone swing in the space between him and the Valkeries. "I'm a friend."

Freya snatched the pendant from his hand, wrapping the leather rope around her fingers as she studied the stone. After a moment of contemplation, she passed it to Myst with a confused expression on her face. And Myst, taking the stone and feeling the familiar tremor run through her skin, came to the exact conclusion Chris had expected.

"This is mine."

"Yes," Chris agreed, even as all the other Valkeries frowned at the pendant in Myst's hand, and the identical one she was wearing around her neck.

"How?"

"You gave it to me right before you died," Chris answered softly, unable to keep the grief from his voice. None of the Valkeries made any move to interrupt him, so he continued, "I'm from the future. And I need your help."

"He's lying!" one of them announced as she stepped forward. "He could have just killed Myst and taken the pendant from her. How do we know he is our friend?"

Chris smiled at her. "Well, its good to see you don't trust me in either time, Leta." It had been a long time since he'd seen her, and it was strange the way his mind seemed to have remembered her so much taller and fiercer than she actually was. But she was one of the Valkeries who had been most vocal in their distrust of him, particularly in the beginning, and that influenced his memories.

"He's not lying," Myst cut in before Leta could respond. "The pendant... I can sense that it was freely given to him. I... I trusted him."

"Then we all did," Freya murmured quietly.

Chris concealed a smile as he answered, "I suppose that depends on who you ask." He could still remember Prue's words, that Freya had been the one to distrust him in the beginning, not Leo. But Freya had trusted him in the end, and whether or not he believed Prue was not important at the moment. He trusted Freya. And he missed her.

"Why did Myst give you her pendant?" another asked.

Chris inclined his head towards her and replied, "Because at that point, she was one of the only ones left, Kyra."

A ripple of unease ran through the crowd. "Explain," Freya said tersely, not liking the answer but knowing that if Myst had trusted this stranger, then he must be speaking the truth.

"You were killed," Chris replied, his green eyes growing cloudy with thoughts of those painful times, "and Valhalla fell with you. It was invaded..." He stopped, barely able to continue, then forced himself to say, "The Source took over."

"The final battle?" Kyra whispered, shocked to hear that they would lose it.

"No." And this time, Chris gave a spiteful laugh, bitterness filling his words. "Not the final battle. A battle that should never have been. The Source... I'm here to stop him from becoming the leader of Evil. He should have been on our side."

"Who was this Source, stranger," Freya inquired suspiciously, "and who exactly are you?"

"The Source," Chris replied, again his voice shaking with emotion, "was Wyatt Halliwell." Mutterings of anger and disbelief met that statement, because all of them knew who Wyatt was, how powerful he would become, and what he was destined for. Chris allowed them to simmer in anger for a moment, but then he answered the second question, "And my name is Chris. Christopher... Perry."

If anyone noticed his pause, they did not comment on it.

"Did you see my death?" Freya asked after a moment, glancing back at Chris.

"No," Chris answered softly, before letting his gaze flick to Leta, "but I saw yours." Again, a pause. "And I mean to prevent them all."

Freya accepted this, mulling over the meanings, and Chris let his eyes wander around the island. It was so different from the last time he had seen it. Then, of course, he had been overcome with grief due to Ria's death and fury and despair because of Wyatt's behavior, and perhaps those emotions had contributed to his feelings of the place. But it had been so different then, so completely dead. Now the air was filled with the scent of flowers and crushed pine and moss, and the sound of water falling over rocks floated on the wind. Then... then it had looked and smelled and sounded like destruction.

"What do you see, Chris?" Myst asked him, moving to his side.

He looked at her, and forced his arms to remain at his side so that he would not suddenly just hug her. "I'm remembering what this looked like after Wyatt..." He trailed off and did not finish the statement.

She looked into his eyes, and he vaguely wondered what she saw within them. "We were friends," she murmured, and that was all it took for his composure to crack just enough so that she could see the pain he was trying to hide.

"Yes," he answered, before forcing the mask back in place. But, on a whim, he added, "I missed you."

She nodded and turned away, obviously unsure how to respond. How was she supposed to react to that sort of confession from someone she had yet to meet?

"So, what exactly do you need our help to do?" Leta asked, coming quickly to Myst's aid when it was clear the her sister was not going to be able to respond to Chris' comment. She gave the stranger standing before them a calculating look, waiting for his answer and weighing his previous words. Was he trustworthy?

"I need to get close to the Charmed Ones, to earn their trust," Chris explained. "It's the only way to get close enough to Wyatt to find and eliminate the threat. Keep him from turning evil." He paused, then looked at Freya, knowing that she would be the one to pass final judgment on him and his plan, and it was her support he needed. "I need to become their white-lighter. And the only way to do that is to get their current white-lighter out of the way."

"We aren't going to kill a white-lighter for you," Freya retorted instantly.

But Chris just chuckled darkly and shook his head. "I don't want him killed. I just want him out of the way for a while." He nodded his head towards the center of the island where he knew the cave was. "I hear it is near impossible for anyone to escape that cage of yours, not even an Elder."

"Is he an Elder?"

Chris turned to Myst as he answered, "Not yet. But if my plan works, he will be." Which would completely change the timeline and possibly have repercussions that even he would not be able to comprehend or predict. It was a risky move, but what other choice did he have? He needed Leo out of the way... and besides, being locked in a cage... well, turnabout was fair play, wasn't it?

"Come," Freya said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen. "We have much to discuss, Chris."

As Chris followed her through the island, Kyra caught up him and placed her hand on his arm. It was strange looking at her, for she had been one of the first to die, and had been so long absent from his life that he barely remembered what it had been like when she was there. But when she spoke, her voice was familiar, and he could not help but smile.

"Do you think you can succeed in this mission?"

Chris frowned, before answering, "If I can't, then at least you will be forewarned. And you will be better prepared to stop him."

"Wyatt."

Chris flinched, but nodded. "Yes," he murmured, "Wyatt."

Myst looked at him sharply, picking up something in his voice. He thought perhaps that she had seen through the lies, that she realized that he was not telling the entire truth. Or perhaps she just sensed that there was more to the story, more to his past than he had explained. And in another time and place, he would have willingly answered that implied question in her stare, or, more likely, would not have lied to her in the first place.

But this was not the future, and this was not _his _Myst, and so he met her gaze and said nothing.

* * *

"Don't look into her eyes!" Chris was yelling before he had even completely reformed. The orbs around him coalesced into his body, and he pushed himself in front of Phoebe, instinctively protecting her from the Titan on the other side of the room. He tossed a potion at Meta, and when that did not hurt her, he threw another, and then another. She growled at him in displeasure, but disappeared in a whirl of wind.

Once the threat was gone, he looked back at the woman crouched in front of him. Her hair was shorter and darker, and her smile was less plastic in this time, but there was no way to mistake her identity. His breath caught in his throat, but he ruthlessly pushed back his emotions, locking them tightly behind a mask, and asked, "Are you alright?"

Phoebe shook her head, unable to answer, but as her eyes moved past Chris and landed on Paige, her breath came out in a shocked gasp. "Oh my God! Paige."

The middle Charmed One rose to her feet and hurried to the stone statute of her sister, and Chris could see all the horror and fear in her expression. "Don't worry," he said quickly, "she's alright." That comment, however, only caused Phoebe to look at him with such disbelief, and he quickly amended, "Well, I mean, she's not completely alright. Obviously. But she's not dead."

"Are you sure?" Phoebe asked anxiously, and Chris fought back the urge to wrap his arms around her tightly and sobbing into her shoulder.

Yes, he was sure. Because Paige did not die today, did not die in this way. She survived, married, had children... and then was murdered years later, sprawled on the floor while Prue stared at her lifeless body and screamed. But he couldn't say that, and so the words that came from his lips were factual, unemotional. "Frankly, you see this a lot. Museums, universities, town centers. Most of those statues... not really statues. They're people like your sister here who have... uh, turned into stone."

It was then that Phoebe seemed to realize that maybe she should wonder about this stranger who had appeared in the nick of time to save her from certain death. "Who are you?" she demanded, a little belatedly in Chris' opinion.

And he looked at her, and uttered the first of what would be a long list of lies given to his family. "Chris. Chris Perry. I'm from the future."

The door opened, and he turned and found himself suddenly staring at his mother. His mother, who he had seen die, seen her fall, beaten and broken, as her blood stained the white kitchen floor and her eyes clouded with pain. He had fallen to his knees by her body even as Paige looked away and Wyatt tried his best to keep back his sobs. And here she was, standing before, young and vibrant and alive.

"Oh, my God, please tell that's just a really good likeness of Paige," Piper breathed, her eyes automatically drawn to her youngest sister. The fear on her face was evident, but so was all the determination and stubbornness that she would pass down to her younger son.

"Oh, it's Paige," Phoebe answered, and her voice was just a bit higher than usual.

"Titan turned her to stone," Chris supplied helpfully, because standing around and saying nothing seemed so wrong, and because trying to be useful would keep him from falling apart as he stared at her...

He remembered his mother. He remembered her smiles and her laughter and her fury and her temper. He remembered how when she looked at him, even if she was upset or angry, he still felt like she was really seeing him, seeing someone important, someone who _mattered_.

But this time, when Piper turned and looked at him, when she met his gaze, she saw absolutely nothing.

"Who are you?"

* * *

Next (and final) chapter: Faith Enough

Due: Fri 10/31


	51. Faith Enough

Title: Shadows at Noon

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: So here it is, the epilogue to the story. Thank you to all who stayed with this story, reading and reviewing despite my many long absences from posting chapters. If you have not read The Lost Future, which is the sequel to this and takes place in the changed future after Chris saves Wyatt, then I would (in a shameless plug for my own writing) suggest you read that now. I don't think I am going to write any more in this series, so this is the end.

The lyrics are from the song _Faith Enough_ by _Jars of Clay_.

* * *

Epilogue: Faith Enough

_The storm is wild enough for sailing,  
The bridge is weak enough to cross.  
This body's frail enough for fighting,  
I'm home enough to know I'm lost.  
Home enough to know I'm lost._

_I don't need you._

The attic was silent.

Wyatt stood in the corner, alone. He had dismissed all his demons, forbidden them from coming back. He could not face them right now, could not allow them to see his weakness, his emotion, his despair.

She was still lying there. Still dead. The broken table leg protruded from her stomach, the clothing around it stiff with dried blood. Her face was unnaturally pale from the blood loss, and her lips, parted just slightly, seemed to be crying out to someone who was no longer there. Her hair was splayed against the floor, one hand was lying still on her stomach, as though trying to stop the blood. And her eyes... lifeless.

He had heard the scream of anguish in Chris' one-word cry, had felt the pain that coursed through his brother's veins at the sight of the dead Phoenix. And he knew he would never forget, for as long as he lived, what it felt like to be personally responsible for removing all light from his brother's eyes.

"It was an accident," he whispered to the room. "I never... I didn't mean to..."

Silence.

Total silence.

_I don't need you._

A lie. A lie in every single word. How could he have said that? How could Chris have believed it? How...

It hadn't taken much. Just one hastily uttered phrase and a backwards kick. He hadn't known what he was saying when he spoke, hadn't known his actions would rob Bianca of her life. And yet... Chris looked at him with hate. Pure hate. He had seen a lot of emotions in Chris' eyes, but in that one moment... he no longer knew his brother.

One moment.

One phrase.

One action.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, remorse filling his body. How could this have happened? How could he let it happen? He was the Twice Blessed, the all-powerful reincarnation of King Arthur. He was the bearer of Excalibur, the prophesied Golden Child. With all that power, all that influence... why had he never been able to save his family? To save Chris?

_I don't need you._

He moved slowly, hesitantly, towards Bianca's body. She was so still, and as he stared into her face, he thought briefly that this was the first time she had looked at peace. Something was twisting deep within his stomach, and it took a moment until he realized it was guilt. Guilt for all that had happened. For her death, for the lives he could not save, and for Chris... for the light gone from his eyes, for the pain in his expression, for the hatred in his tone. For Chris... the brother he had not been able to save.

He did not care about Bianca. She was expendable, just another easily replaceable assassin. But Chris loved her. And that... that was the reason he could not look in her eyes now that she was gone. That was the reason he had given her a second chance when she had betrayed him. Because Chris loved her and...

"There is nothing I would not do for you."

_I don't need you._

"I need you, Chris," he said quietly. "There was never a single day that I didn't need you."

* * *

_"Chris, we don't need your help. I will get my son back myself, and when I do, I don't ever want to see you again. Understand?"_

The words rang through his head, over and over, like some form of self-torture. No matter how hard he tried, he could not rid himself of the memories of his mother's face, twisted with hatred, his father's filled with suspicion. The words pressed in on him, tightening around his chest and lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

"I... I'm sorry," he gasped, tears pooling in his eyes. Tears that would not fall, would never fall, because crying would solve nothing.

Unbidden, a memory floated to mind. Adam was standing before him, his gaze serious, as he reached out and rested a hand on Chris' arm.

_Chris, no matter what happens in the past, remember that you are making a better world. It might... you might want to give up. There could come a time when you think... that maybe it isn't worth it anymore. But it is. You have to trust me. It is._

"You knew, didn't you?" he said aloud, his words quickly swallowed up by the cold air. "You knew this would happen. You knew..." The wind buffeted his clothing, drowning out the sound of his voice as it rattled against the tower of the Golden Gate Bridge. He wondered what else Adam had known.

But before he could continue on this line of thought, a shower of white and blue orbs lit up the night sky, and Leo appeared. Chris flinched and averted his gaze quickly, but not fast enough to miss the look of disappointment on his soon-to-be father's face.

"Nice place to think, isn't it?"

Chris inhaled sharply at those words. It was a nice place to think, but his thoughts were hardly pleasant. And there was almost nothing in this world he would not give to make his mother's livid voice be silent, to stop the perpetual echo of her disappointment in his head.

"What do you want?"

"Just to talk," Leo answered, studying the witch-lighter carefully. Chris forced himself to meet that scrutinizing stare, and wondered, not for the first time, how they did not see themselves reflected in him. But Leo continued, oblivious to his son's inner turmoil. Oblivious to the fact that this was his son. "You know, Chris, trust is a precious commodity. Once you lose it, it's pretty hard to get it back."

_I'm not saying you should assume every person you work with is out to get you, but you have to be careful. Life has a funny way of sending you friends who look like enemies and enemies who look like friends._

_How do you tell the difference?_

_You don't. That's what makes life so much fun._

He swallowed uneasily, and shoved away the memories of Bianca. It was still too painful to think about her, to think about what had happened, what Wyatt had done. And what he would continue to do in the future, if he was not saved. Or stopped. Wanting to forget, he snapped back a sharp retort, covering the wound with sarcasm so the hurt would not show through.

"What, did you get that out of a fortune cookie?"

"Don't be a smart ass, it doesn't help your cause."

He almost choked on his own laughter at those words. "My cause? I think I've pretty much screwed that one up. Don't you?" Because Mom hates me. Because Ria is dead. Because Bianca is dead. Because Myst is dead. Because my brother is _still_ evil. So far, nothing he had done had made a difference. And he certainly wasn't any closer to finding the answer now than he was when he had first arrived in the past all those months ago.

"I don't know," Leo answered, his tone laced with heavy resignation.

"Are you saying you still trust me?" Chris asked, a tiny flicker of hope burning in his chest. Sure, his relationship with his father had been anything but perfect, but still... If he could have someone, just one person, on his side... Life might be bearable again. This all might be bearable again.

"It isn't my trust that matters," Leo answered. "It's the sisters'."

He swallowed. The sisters. The ones who had died, blood pooling on the floor, lifeless eyes sliding past him, no longer seeing his face. They were everything in the world to him, and he was nothing at all to them. How could they not care? How could they do this to him? How could he do it to himself?

_We're a family, and family member's protect each other. Always_.

Wyatt's words. They reverberated in his head, forgotten promises from a time when Wyatt was still Wyatt. Still his brother.

Leo continued talking, and Chris listened and responded with only half-attention, and masked indifference. His thoughts were on someone else, something else entirely. This woman was not his mother, this man was not his father. They were not his aunts, not his family. He was alone, completely and totally alone.

But for the first time in a very long time, that boy, that little Wyatt, was _his_ Wyatt. His brother. Who looked up at him with an innocent gaze, with a sweet smile, with trust. Trust that this man who had saved him from the Order was worthwhile, was someone important. Was a friend.

He wouldn't give up. Nothing could ever make him stop, ever force him away from his mission. He would find the threat to his brother and he would stop it, even if it cost him everything - his so-called parents, his sanity, his very life - even if no one else believed him.

Because family members protect each other.

_Always_.

_It's just enough to be strong,  
In the broken places, in the broken places.  
It's just enough to be strong,  
Should the world rely on faith tonight._


End file.
